


The Miracles of Hidden Suns

by BroadwayStarletQueen



Series: Games of Broken Stars Trilogy [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Family, M/M, Romance, Teeny bit of angst, Time Travel, body-swapping, written on a deadline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroadwayStarletQueen/pseuds/BroadwayStarletQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara Oswald is on a mission to save the Doctor from death, and as the new owner of her father's TARDIS, she needs a companion.  Who better than the son of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?  Clara and Hamish embark on a confusing, wibbly-wobbly adventure to save Clara's parents and keep the Watson-Holmes clan in one piece as well, with some unexpected results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, beautiful readers! Reflecting back on this fic, I realize I wanted it to be over so much that I think I sacrificed my sanity at some point, and while cohesive, this piece is just...wonky. My sister aptly described it as "plot-driven, well-meaning crack" and I am inclined to agree. I also wanted to finish this before The Name of the Doctor came out and ruined its canonicity, so keep in mind this was all written before I knew anything from that episode. I still like the idea that Clara is the child of the Doctor and River, and I think Moffat can still make it work...
> 
> Anyway, for those of you who read the last two works, good on you! I am proud that I managed to write this much for this universe, and I appreciate those who stayed with me through my well-meaning crack. And I mean crack, guys. The last few chapters are just 50 shades of cray.

Hamish Watson-Holmes knew a thing or two about great men.  After all, he was the son of two of them.

            His fathers had made sure that Hamish studied his fair share of Shakespeare, and the Bard had a few things to say concerning the achievement of greatness, whether someone was born into it, earned it, or had it thrust upon him.

            His father, Sherlock Holmes, was born great.  With an IQ off the charts, he was widely considered the cleverest man in all of England, if not on the entire planet.  He was astoundingly intelligent and amazingly sharp, traits he was born with and will carry with him for the rest of his life.

            His dad, John Watson, had greatness thrust upon him.  Though he’d had an unassuming existence before meeting Hamish’s father, John had taken the notoriety and accomplishments that came with marrying the world-famous consulting detective in stride, even proving his own worth along the way.  Yes, Sherlock was smart, but John was brave and unfailingly loyal, and neither could be great without the other.

            There had even been a man that Hamish remembered vaguely from his childhood, a man who he’d heard stories about from Dad, who had undoubtedly achieved greatness.  One time, when he was four, he remembered meeting a strange man in a blue box with a funny tie, who had introduced himself as the Doctor.  When he’d left, his parents had been sad for several days.  Hamish was later informed of all the mighty deeds of this man, which sent him further into a funk as he grew up.

            Hamish was surrounded by great men in his life, but he certainly didn’t consider himself one of them.  He was adopted by John and Sherlock, for one, so he couldn’t say that he’d been born into greatness, and at this rate it seemed like he’d never achieve it.  He was awkward and tall and ungainly, reaching a ridiculous height above his own father, with messy dark hair that made people often mistake him for Sherlock’s biological son.  In reality, he’d been the orphaned son of two unfortunate Londoners, but that didn’t stop Sherlock from expecting his adopted son to tap into the family genius.  He’d been reared in morgues and crime scenes, with periodic tables as his playthings.  Thankfully, he’d gotten a knack for chemistry, but he was certainly no genius.  Hamish Watson-Holmes was just an ordinary 17-year-old boy who had trouble talking to girls, with a voice that sometimes squeaked and an obsession with video games.

            Sherlock and John loved him, of course, and doted on him.  And he wasn’t unintelligent—he just felt like a disappointment in the world of extraordinary.  He’d tried to develop deductive reasoning skills, like Sherlock, but he couldn’t pull it off.  He’d attempted to develop an interesting in medicine, like John, but it bored him.  And now he was about to graduate and go to uni and he hadn’t the foggiest idea what to do with his life.

            Hamish Watson-Holmes had no idea how to achieve greatness until November 4th, 2031, two days before his eighteenth birthday, when he determined that he would leave his mark on the world not through intellect or power, but through love.  He would become one of the great lovers of the world, because on November 4th, 2031, Hamish Watson-Holmes met the most beautiful woman in the entire world and fell head over heels in love with her.

* * * *

            “Afternoon, luv,” John called from the kitchen when he heard the familiar footfalls of his son come up the stairs and into the flat.  “How was school?”

            Hamish flopped onto the couch, throwing his backpack on the floor, and humphed in response.  Thankfully, John Watson had become fluent in Teen Angst over the years parenting Hamish.

            “So, Nicholson gave you trouble again, did he?”

            “He’s such an idiot,” Hamish sighed.  “I don’t get it.  How did evolution decide that the males with brains the size of a soggy walnut would have dominion over the smart kids?”

            “Well, I’m sure your father would say something about brawn versus brain on the evolutionary ladder and then tell you to go read his old neurology textbook,” John surmised.  He sat down on the couch with Hamish and ruffled his hair affectionately.  “Fancy a cuppa?”

            “That sounds perfect, Dad.”  He rubbed circles into his forehead while John stood up to get tea.  “Dad, can I ask you something?”

            “Anything.”

            “Do you and Father talk about me?”

            “Every day.  That comes with the territory of being someone’s kid.”

            “No, I mean…I mean about me.  Not being like you.”

            John put down his mugs of tea on the coffee table.  “Mish, we’ve had this discussion a million times.  You are perfect just the way you are, and we couldn’t ask for a better son.”

            “But Father—”

            “—gets frustrated with _anyone_ who isn’t on his own intellectual plane.  I should know after 21 years,” John huffed.  “He’s not angry that you’re not—you know—a mini-Sherlock.  You two aren’t even related, for goodness’ sake, and I thank my lucky stars each day that you’re not.”  He laughed.  “Imagine having to live with two of you.”

            Hamish laughed with him and nodded.  “You’re right.  It’s just…gosh, I feel like I can’t do anything right.”

            “You’re 17, Mish.  No one ever feels like they’re doing something right at 17.  What you need to know,” John said comfortingly, “is that your father and I are both immensely proud of you.  Don’t let bullies get you down, okay?”

            With a slap on the back, John went back to the kitchen to look at his paper.  But Hamish wasn’t finished.  “Why, exactly?”

            “Why what?”

            “Why are you proud of me?”

            John racked his brains.  “You’re a brilliant chemist, you’re one of the smartest kids in your class, and you’re a good kid.  Deductive reasoning does not a successful person make, all right?”

            “Ugh, it’s not that.”  Hamish stretched on the couch and mumbled to himself, “I’m not doing _anything_ important.”

            “What was that?”

            “Nothing.  I’m signing up for the army, Dad.”

            John chuckled—he saw right through Hamish’s bluff.  The boy was lanky and a bit on the stringy side, in terms of muscle.  He could hardly do three push-ups.  “Sure.  Shall we get you fitted up for a uniform, then?  I’m sure the girls would love it…”

            “Dad,” Hamish groaned, “do NOT mention girls.  This is a girl-free zone.  You two don’t need to be successful with the ladies, so I feel less horrible that I have zero success with them.”

            “Ha.”  John busied himself in the kitchen, putting down the paper and looking for an afternoon snack.

            “Dad, I’m two days away from being a legal adult—I can get my own snack.”

            “Oh, this isn’t for you—your father has been on the Bishop case since Tuesday and if he doesn’t eat a sandwich, I am instituting a shag-ban.”

            “ _Dad.  Why are you doing this to me?_ ”

            With that, a jingle of keys was heard downstairs and the man himself ran up to 221B with a fox-like grin.  “It was the maid, of course!  She had the letter opener in her pocket!  John, you missed it—I was spectacular!”

            “What else is new?” John greeted Sherlock with a peck near his rapidly graying temples.  “Sandwich.  Eat.”

            “I don’t _want_ to eat.”

            “You’re 52 and you’re skinnier than Hamish—sorry, dear—so you’d best eat that sandwich now before I make you.”

            “And how are you going to do that?”

            “We won’t play Captain and Detective for a month.”

            Sherlock whined.  “Dull.  But fine.”  He shoveled half of the sandwich into his mouth and flopped onto the couch with Hamish.  “Your dad is being ridiculous as usual.  How was school, Mish?”

            “Absolutely groovy—I found mayonnaise in my trainers, courtesy of David Nicholson.”

            “Oh, you’d hope that the jocks would get more creative with time, but they never do.  Sorry about the shoes, though.  How did you do on your chemistry test?”

            “110 percent—literally.  There was a bonus question.”

            “Excellent.  And your history exam?”

            Hamish’s ears went red.  “Er…well, it’s a bit of a funny story…”

            “You got a C, didn’t you?”

            “Sherlock, what’s rule one?” John called from the kitchen.  “No deducing your son.  We put that one on the refrigerator.”

            “No, he’s right,” Hamish grumbled.  “Bloody hell, can’t even keep my bad grades from my parents like any normal teenager.”

            “Ah, but a normal teenager wouldn’t be allowed to keep explosive chemicals in his room for fun, now, would he?” Sherlock clapped his hands.  “Now, what’s on the schedule for the evening?  Anything loud? I need to think.”

            John was about to open his mouth to answer when a faint wind rustled the papers in the living room, accompanied by a wheezy noise that emanated from the empty space by the coffee table.  His eyes flickered to Sherlock’s.

            Hamish, for his part, screamed in a high voice that squeaked and jumped over the couch to hide behind it.  “What the bloody hell _IS that thing??!?_ ”

            He screeched again when out of nowhere, a gigantic blue box materialized in the middle of the room and settled down next to the coffee table.  Carefully, he moved from behind the couch to investigate the thing.

            Abruptly, the door to the box opened and out tumbled the most beautiful girl Hamish Watson-Holmes had ever seen.

            She fell ungracefully out and immediately tried to collect herself, brushing herself off and looking at the blue box.  “You know, I get better at parking her every day—it’s the landing that always gets me.  Oh!  Hello, Sherlock!”  She ran forward and gave Hamish’s father a huge hug.  “You’re getting older, you know.  I hope John’s taking good care of you.”

            Sherlock gave her a genuine smile.  “Clara Oswin Oswald, it’s been 19 years.  You look as lovely as you did on our wedding day.”

            She flipped her dark hair flirtatiously and said, “Well, I try.  Actually, it’s only been a few months for me—I’ve been poking about, you know.  Time traveling business, messy indeed.  John!”

            “Hello, Clara, you look well,” John said.  “Not that you ever bothered to check in on us, but we followed your instructions.  Clara, I’d like for you to meet our son, Hamish.”

            She turned her warm brown eyes to the dumbfounded teenager and stuck out a hand for shaking.  “Wonderful to meet you, Hamish.  I’m Clara Oswald.”

            He blinked as she grabbed his hand and shook it firmly.  He was pretty sure he was dying.  As if to make a point, he coughed weakly.

            She raised her eyebrows.  “Don’t hurt yourself, kid.”

            “Mish, your father and I know Clara from way back.  Remember the stories we used to tell you about the Doctor, after he came to visit?  Well, this is his daughter,” John explained.

            Clara’s gorgeous brown eyes lit up.  “Mish?  I quite like that.  That and Junior. Mind if I call you Junior, Junior?”

            “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call myself ‘Junior’,” he said before coughing again and pulling himself to his fully, manly height.  “I happen to almost be 18.”

            “Aw, how cute.  I remember 18.”  She flopped onto the couch Hamish had been hiding behind and crossed her arms.  “Well?  Aren’t you going to offer me some tea?  I’ve been traveling all over the galaxy, and the least you could do is offer me sustenance.”

            Hamish ran to fetch her a mug and sloppily poured a reasonable amount of tea into it before bringing it back to her and accidentally spilling some on her jean-clad lap.  “Oh—I’m so sorry!”

            She shrugged it off.  “Easy, tiger—tea is tea.  Thanks for being snappy about it, though.  It’s thoroughly appreciated.”  She flashed him a blinding grin and Hamish was positive that if he didn’t kiss her in the next ten minutes, he was going to die a horrible, painful death.

            “So, er, traveling all over the galaxy?” he asked.  “That sounds brilliant.  You’re the Doctor’s daughter?”

            “Yep, that’s me.  Pretty impressive, hm?”

            “Of course it is—where do you go?  Is that box your time machine?  It’s the TARDIS, yeah?”

            Clara glanced at his parents.  “You’ve been teaching him well, it seems.”

            “Well, we aren’t exactly teaching him anything,” John said.  “The Doctor came to visit for the first time in his timeline when Hamish was four, I think.  Oh, it was adorable—Mish looked so chubby in his spacesuit, and he stuffed the Doctor’s Jammy Dodgers into the helmet.”

            “ _Dad!_ ” Hamish shrieked, but Clara was already giggling.

            “It’s no big deal.  Everyone had a chubby spacesuit phase.”  Clara drank gratefully from her mug.  “So, how’ve you been for the past 19 years?  Sick with curiosity, I’ll bet.”

            “You seem to be doing a lot better, since…” John trailed off.  “Well, I can see that the TARDIS has been helping you cope.  Good on both of you.  And how’s River?”

            Clara nearly dropped her mug.  Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly with pain, and she put down her mug on the coffee table.  “She’s dead.  Has been for two months now.”

            Sherlock swallowed.  “River?”

            Clara waved it off noncommittally.  “We all knew it was coming.  She figured out what she had to do when the time was right, and she did it beautifully.  The Doctor downloaded her into the Library database, and she can live the rest of her life in a virtual wonderland if she wants.  She was ever so cross that I didn’t tell her how he’d save her,” she said, smiling to herself, “because she thought it would be more along the lines of bringing her back to life, not making her a computer file.  She told me she wished I’d given her some warning.  But she understands, and she’s grateful.”

            “Told you?  Hold on, how did she tell you, when she’s in a computer?” John asked.

            Clara gave him a cheerful grin.  “Email.”

            Hamish was trying desperately to follow the story.  “I’m sorry, guys, but I’m completely lost.”

            Clara ruffled his hair (and Hamish struggled to keep breathing).  “That’s all right, Junior, I’ll talk you through it.  In fact, that’s sort of why I’m here.  I sort of need your dads’ help, if you can spare them.”

            “Help with what?” Sherlock asked in a clipped tone.

            “Reviving River, of course.  And the mission to save the Doctor.”  Clara filled Hamish in quickly.  “You already know about the Doctor, then—the Time Lord who traveled in the TARDIS all over the universe?”

            “Yeah, Dad would tell me stories about him when I was a kid.  He even came around once, but I don’t really remember it.  Have I already been on your time machine?”

            “Focus, Junior,” she instructed.  “Several months ago in my time, the Doctor went to the Fields of Trenzalore and died, and as his daughter, it’s my job to use the TARDIS and bring him back from some locked dimension where things that don’t exist go, and your parents are the only ones who can help me.”

            “And how can we help, exactly?  We’re not really spring chickens,” John said.  “We’re not cut out for running the way we used to be.”

            “I don’t need you for running.  River’s got it all worked out,” Clara said, crossing her legs on the table.  Hamish tried very hard to listen to what she was saying so he could be involved with the mission, but he found himself very distracted.  “There’s a whole hidden volume on Netherspace in the Library, and she’s learned a bundle.  Netherspace is a dimension only for the theoretical, so bodies can’t travel there.  However, a TARDIS can get you to the threshold if it’s piloted by an expert, which River happens to be.  We take the TARDIS into the Untempered Schism—”

            “Untempered _what_?”

            “—and from there, I’ve jerry-rigged a system with some help from Sexy that will put us into a deep sleep that should tap us into the psychic network of Netherspace, if an imprint of us already exists there.  We can operate inside of Netherspace, looking for the Doctor, while our bodies wait for us to come back.  Like that one movie with the Titanic bloke.”

            Hamish couldn’t stop himself from telling her, “You’re absolutely brilliant.”

            She beamed.  “I know.  You won’t _believe_ the amount of research I had to do to get this plan to work.  Being the new Doctor is such hard work with only a human brain—it’ll be better when Dad’s back.  At least, I hope so.”

            “So, what do you need us for?” John asked again.

            “Isn’t it obvious?” Sherlock said.  “Imprints of us already exist in Netherspace from the abandoned timeline, including Clara.  She doesn’t want to go in looking for him alone.  Of course we’ll go.”

            “Sherlock, you can’t just make decisions like that anymore.  We have a son to think about.”

            “I’ll come, too!” Hamish volunteered.  “I can help!”

            Clara looked doubtful.  “You don’t have an imprint in Netherspace, Junior.  You’ve always existed.  I’ve made sure of it.”

            “Well, you said your mum—River—would be piloting the TARDIS in the Untempered Thingy, but you also said you’d be in a deep sleep with my dads.  Someone should watch over you three, and River will be busy.”  He crossed his arms and tried to look stubborn.  “Problem with me joining you?”

            “None at all, Junior.  Maybe we can reward you with a lollipop for your troubles.”  She looked to John.  “Come on, Watson, this one’s a cinch.  Your body won’t even be in real danger, and your son will be safe on the TARDIS.  One last hurrah to save the Doctor?”

            “What if our minds get lost in there?” John asked fearfully.  “What if we don’t wake up?”

            “Well, Hamish’ll be there to monitor us, won’t you, Mish?” Clara said, putting an arm around Hamish.

            “Er.  Yeah.  Yeah, I will.  Come on, Dad!” he said, clasping his hands together.  “Please?  Please can I go on a relatively safe adventure in a time machine?”

            John grumbled.  “We’ll have to think about it.”

            “Jooohn,” Sherlock grumbled.  “Adventure, John!  Entirely new dimension of being to explore!”

            “At the very least, we should _sleep_ on it,” John said with finality.  “Can we have the evening to think about it, Clara, dear?”

            She huffed.  “Fine.  Can I stay for supper?”

            “You’re welcome to, of course.  I was about to run to Tesco, actually…”

            “Don’t bother—I’ll go!”  She ran into the TARDIS, came back out with a coat and a scarf, and bounded down the stairs.  “Be back in a jiff!”

            John chuckled to see her go.  “You know, after only a few months of being in the TARDIS, she certainly acts like the Doctor.”

            Hamish, for his part, fell on the floor.  “Dads.  I think I’m in love.”

            Both of his fathers began to laugh to themselves while he argued against them.  “No, I’m serious!  As soon as she appeared in her, as soon as I saw her face—stop laughing!  It’s not funny!”

            “Love at first sight is an illusion brought on by endorphins and adrenaline, Hamish,” Sherlock said airily.  “Yes, Clara is very pretty, objectively speaking, but you certainly can’t be in love with her after five minutes of meeting her.”

            “Oh, give him a break, Sherlock, he’s a teenage boy,” John said.  “Hamish, luv, Clara’s a very nice girl.  Certainly an interesting one, but she also leads a very different life than what you’re used to.  You should probably think about that before you ask her out for chips.”

            He pressed a pillow to his face and sighed.  He wasn’t an idiot—he knew how stupid he sounded.  But it felt true to him, in some silly, sitcom way.  As confused as he’d been when a mysterious blue police box landed on their carpet, when she’d opened the door and toppled out, he hadn’t imagined it—his heart really did stop for a moment.

            There was something irresistible about her cheeky smile, or the way her eyes sparkled when she went off on a tangent, but it was more than that—Hamish felt the desire to protect her, to make her laugh.  To be there when she explored whatever she explored, making sure she didn’t get hurt.

            The feeling was overwhelming and very, very illogical.  The voice of Sherlock he heard in his head when he was about to do something stupid was rambling on an on about how love is really made of chemicals and how no one can tell who their true love is at first glance, but his heart was pounding and he didn’t care.  He was hopelessly in love with a clever girl with a time machine.


	2. Chapter 2

“Stop thinking,” Sherlock commanded John as he went about washing the dishes.  The consulting detective sat on the top of an armchair, with his feet on the seat, balanced precariously as he dictated John’s work.  “You’re thinking too much.  It’s annoying.”

            “I’m not thinking about anything!” John said over his shoulder, drying a plate.  “You could be helping with the dishes, you know.”

            “Have I washed a single dish in two decades?” Sherlock chuckled.  “Why start now?  Seriously, though, stop thinking.  You’re going to overthink the whole thing and bluster it all up.  Of course we’re going with Clara.”

            John put down the dish.  “These sorts of adventures were fun when we were younger, Sherlock.  When we ran with the Doctor, we didn’t have anything tying us down.  Now we have a life here, and we have Hamish.”

            “He’ll come with us.”

            “If you think I’m going to put my son in that kind of danger, you have another thing coming, Sherlock Holmes.”

            “He’s clearly going to refuse to be left behind, John—he’s infatuated with Clara.  I imagine we’ll have to view his puppy love during the entire rescue mission.”  Sherlock folded his hands together and tried to dispel images of his son mooning over a girl, however clever she might be.

            John crossed his arms over his chest and argued, “It’s too dangerous.  I’m not going to let anything happen to him, and the Doctor would understand.  He sacrificed himself before he put his child in danger, and he would forgive us.  Clara can do this on her own.”

            “John, darling, you and I both know she can’t.  Whatever dimension she’s going to, she shouldn’t have to face it alone.”

            “You’re only saying that because you want to explore it—admit it, Sherlock.”  John shook his head.  “Ever since you found out about Netherspace, you’ve been aching to go.  And why not—why wouldn’t the great Sherlock Holmes feel entitled to living in some higher bloody intellectual plane, where he can laugh at all the mere mortals below?”  
            Sherlock winced.  “That’s not true, and you know it.”

            “Yes, it is.”

            The two men stared at each other from across the room until Sherlock gave him his trademark ‘I’m Going to Ignore You Now’ glare and strutted off to the couch, where he curled into a ball that emanated irritation.  John rolled his eyes—after all these years, Sherlock still showed his annoyance in the same way.  He remembered when they’d first started dating and gotten into a row over dirty laundry.  Sherlock had remained on the couch, unmoving, for two days.  John had thought he’d broken him.

            He finished cleaning up the dishes and checked on Hamish, who’d gone to work on homework in his room after dinner.  Clara had retreated to the TARDIS after eating with them, but the blue box stayed in the living room.  She had no intentions of scurrying off without Sherlock and John; she’d made that clear at dinner.

            Sighing deeply, he crossed the living room to the couch, dropped to his knees, and settled his chin in the crevice between Sherlock’s shoulder and jaw.  “I’m sorry.  I was out of line.”

            Sherlock cringed, causing John to bite his tongue.  “Ouch!”  He rubbed his jaw.  “Come on, then, I really am sorry.  I don’t really mind your interest in Netherspace—you know I just don’t want you to get hurt, or worse.”  
            Sherlock turned around and peeked at John over his shoulder.  “You’re a sentimental idiot.”

            He kissed his temple.  “Yeah, well, I’m _your_ sentimental idiot.  So sod off.  I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

            Sherlock considered that for a moment and decided to try a tactic he hadn’t used on John since he was 45 and wanted to buy a country house (in a neighborhood of diamond smugglers, but that was really a minor detail and the house itself was gorgeous).  He started to purr and said, “You know, John, the Doctor gave his life for us.”

            John’s eyebrows knitted in confusion.  “Sherlock.  What are—”

            “And you know,” he murmured, beginning to press kisses up John’s neck and feeling victorious when he could detect John’s pulse speeding up, “that if it were us, the Doctor would stop at nothing to save us.  In fact, he did it before.  Do you remember…?”

            “Er…sorry, what?” John said as Sherlock didn’t relent.  He let out an undignified squeak when Sherlock grazed his earlobe.

            “Do you remember when he went back to save you?” Sherlock whispered.  “Do you remember what he did before that?”

            John hissed to keep control of his breathing.  In a surprising show of strength for a man in his fifties, even a fit ex-soldier, he pinned Sherlock down on the couch and hovered above him with a wicked grin.  “I think you’re going to have to remind me, Mr. Watson.”

            “Well, Dr. Holmes,” Sherlock said, arching up to almost meet John’s lips, “he married us—and left us alone to have the best kiss in the entire universe.”

            “Oh, _bloody hell_.” John dove down and seized Sherlock’s mouth with his.  “I’ll give you the best kiss in the universe.”

            “I think you _have_ , John,” Sherlock chuckled into the kiss.  “But if you want to try and outdo yourself, then, by all means…”

            Hamish had chosen the wrong moment to walk downstairs, however.  He trudged down to the kitchen to grab a late-night snack and see if Clara was out and about when he saw the spectacle on the couch.  “ _Holy sh_ —DADS.  YOUR SON.  IS TRYING.  TO EAT.”

            John, who had been known to fall to the floor in these situations, had the sense this time to simply sit up and roll his eyes at Hamish while Sherlock adjusted his collar and said, “Really, Hamish, I was simply trying to convince your father to let us go as a family with Clara.  Do you think so little of me that you’d believe I’d stoop to snogging on a couch at my age?”

            “Yes.”  Hamish picked a yogurt out of the fridge and went back up the stairs.  “Go back to your…thing.  It’s not like you’re depressing your teenage son because apparently old guys are the only ones who can get any action around here.”

* * * *

            Clara waited until she heard the door to Sherlock and John’s room close, and waited another ten minutes to hear John’s snores.  Sherlock wouldn’t be asleep, not yet—but he’d be lost in thought, so as long as she was quiet she could sneak past them.  She carefully tiptoed up the stairs and pushed the door to Hamish’s room open.

            He had fallen asleep with his laptop on his chest, the screen casting a blue light on his gently snoring face.  His dark hair, mussed up by sleep, nearly covered his eyes.  Clara took the computer off of him and, for the fun of it, looked at the screen to see what he’d been looking up.  She was half afraid of what she’d find.

            “ ‘Quantum Physics and Time Paradoxes for Dummies’ and episode 17 of _Space Avengers_.  Oh, bless him,” she grinned to herself.  Giving him a shove on the shoulder, she whispered hoarsely, “Oi, Junior, wakey-wakey!”

            He woke with a start and squeaked when he realized that Clara was in his room, looking at him in his green plaid pajama bottoms and complete lack of a shirt.  He pulled the blanket over his bare chest (which, thank goodness, wasn’t paunchy at the very least) and tried to catch him breath and dignity.  “Clara, what the hell are you doing?  I was—”

            “Being very manly?  I’m sure you were.  I’m in need of some assistance, Mr. Junior.”  She gave him a devilish smile and pointed to the screen.  “I need a Space Avenger.”

            He blinked.  “You’re kidding, right?”

            “Yes.  Keep up—your dads are being boring old blokes and won’t decide whether or not they want to help, but my time is running out and I have things to do.  I’m in need of a companion, and I was wondering if you’d like to be my—”

            “Yes!” He coughed.  “I mean, er, sure.  Yeah, whatever you need.  So what’s the plan?”

            “First, you’ll put on some real clothes and grab what you need to live on the TARDIS.  Nothing superfluous, since Sexy can supply most everything.  I mean sentimental items.”

            “Can I bring my set of beakers?”

            “Erm, I’m pretty sure we have a lab or seven, so you’re fine.”

            Hamish nodded and pulled on his Cambridge sweatshirt, grabbing his keys, his phone, and ripping his poster of _Space Avengers_ and the Periodic Table of the Elements off the wall.  He took a picture of his fathers that he had on his desk and stuffed it into his pocket.  “Will there be a room for me?”

            “Two, if you like,” she said.  “Me, I have a room for days that begin with a ‘T’ and a room for days that begin with every other letter.  A bit random, but I happen to like it.  Shall we, Junior?”  She held her hand out to him innocently, and he swallowed before grabbing it and following her down the stairs and into the blue box.


	3. Chapter 3

Hamish tripped on his way into the TARDIS, utterly shocked.  “ _It’s bigger on the inside, Clara, it’s bigger on the inside, it’s bigger on the inside, it’s bigger—_ ”

            “Oh, now I understand why Dad liked it so much,” Clara giggled to herself.  “Stop ogling, Junior—welcome aboard the TARDIS!  Time And Relative Dimension In Space.  She can go anywhere in the entire universe, and, more importantly, any _when_.”

            “Brilliant!  This is brilliant!” he squealed.  Rushing around all the sides of the console, he tried playing with buttons until Clara slapped his hand away.  “How’d you learn to drive this thing?  It looks ridiculously complicated.”

            Clara shrugged.  “My mum taught me, and my dad tried to.  Do you like her?”

            “Her?  You mean the TARDIS?” Hamish ran an adoring hand over the gleaming control panels.  “I absolutely love her.”

            She gave him a winning smile.  “Good.  You’re my first companion, Hamish, and I don’t want to bring any companions onboard who don’t appreciate Sexy.”

            “Sexy?” he choked.  “You…you mean the TARDIS, yeah?”

            “Who else could I be talking about, Junior?”

            He cleared his throat.  “Well, I mean…”  
            “Junior!” she snorted, placing two firm hands on his much-taller shoulders.  “Junior, you are a sweetheart and I’m really glad we’re going to be friends.  You’re as cute as a pile of kittens on a rainy Sunday afternoon, but you’re also 17, and I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

            “18.  I’m almost 18.”

            She pursed her lips.  “Really?  Oh, never mind, that doesn’t—the point is, Junior, you’re really nice…but I’m six years older than you and I’m really just interested in having a partner to help me with the mission.  If that’s…not up your alley, then—”

            “No!  Erm, no, that’s…’s fine,” he said in a low voice that he assumed was casual.

            She raised an eyebrow.  “Are you sure about that?”

            “Listen, I’m here to have a fabulous adventure in space and time in an incredible machine with a beautiful, clever, funny woman who I will definitely not fall in love with.”  He raised an eyebrow to match hers and actually managed to pull off one second of looking semi-attractive.  “That is, if you don’t fall in love with me first, Miss Oswald.”

            She scoffed.  “Focus on the mission, Junior, and don’t touch the pretty lights.”

            “Right.  The mission.  Space Avengers.”  He flexed his hands and stood in what he assumed was an epic position.  “Er…what exactly is the mission?”

            “We’re finding a host body for my mother,” Clara explained, typing rapidly into a keypad on the opposite side of the console.  “My mother, River, is inside a huge computer database.  Her mind only exists on the computer of the mainframe of the Library, a planet of only books and information.  So, in order to bring her back to life, we need a body for her mind to be downloaded into.  As you can probably guess, I haven’t found someone willing to keep her.”

            “Why is that?”

            “Well, there aren’t a lot of people who want to give up their brains so they can bring back to life a psychopathic killer who thinks she’s the best-looking thing in the universe.”

            Hamish had to ask.  “Is she the best-looking thing in the universe?”

            “Well, I’ve met Captain Jack Harkness, so she has some stiff competition.”  Clara blew hair out of her eyes and looked to Hamish for suggestions.  “All right, companion—where are we going to find someone willing to give up their mind to save River Song?”

            Hamish tapped the console a few times.  “Beats me.  I mean, whoever does it is going to die.  You’re asking someone to die, essentially.”

            Clara swallowed.  “There isn’t another way.”

            “I didn’t say there was.  Only that it’s going to be difficult.”  He ran a hand through his messy hair and tried to tame it.  “Well, this is a morally fuzzy area, but what if we find someone who’s going to die and ask them if they’re willing to die via download instead of the natural way?”

            “Not a bad idea,” she said, tapping her chin.  “Wait!  I’ve got it!  Oh, Junior, you’re brilliant!  You are absolutely fantastic!”  She threw her arms around his neck, even though he was at least a foot and a half taller, and squealed with delight.  Hamish was pretty sure he’d never been happier in his life.

            “Not that I’m objecting to the hug, _friend_ , but what exactly did I come up with?”

            “You said to get someone who was dying—but you’re completely wrong!  We need someone who can’t die!  _Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant_!”  She pushed a gigantic lever up and the TARDIS whooshed away.

            “Sorry, what?”  
            “You know, I think I’m going to keep you around, Junior—whatever you say, if I do the opposite, we’re going to be peachy!” She clapped her hands happily.  “Russia, 2015.  The last Earthly residence of Captain Jack Harkness before he left Torchwood, took his vortex manipulator, and left for reaches unknown.  Jack will help us.”

            “Who’s Captain Jack?”

            She grinned.  “Immortal being with an unstoppable sex drive.  A friend of the family.  He’ll be there for us.  Ready to see him?”

            He nodded and walked over to the TARDIS doors.  He opened them for Clara and said, “To Russia, milady?”

            She looked at his hoodie with a short and went to the back room and grabbed him a long trench coat that looked vaguely familiar, picking her own coat and an insanely long and colorful scarf.  She wrapped the scarf around her neck a few times and threw him the coat.  “Go on, then.  You’ll catch your death.  It’s February in Moscow, genius.”

            Hamish took the coat gratefully and slung it over his shoulders, shivering as some snow drifted through the open door.  “So, where exactly are we going to find Captain Jack?”

            “Well, that’s part of the mystery,” she said, taking Hamish by the hand and leading him out of the TARDIS.  With a snap of her fingers, the doors closed and they were out in the brisk Moscow air.  “See, Captain Jack Harkness was last seen in Moscow in this year, around this date.  His location was kept top secret, for some reason, before he moved on to space.  But no one knows where in Moscow.”

            “If he’s a family friend, couldn’t you just call him?”

            “Well, I don’t think I’ll have to.  He’s a bit obsessed with the family, and if I’m right, he’ll come to us when he realizes the TARDIS is here,” she said, sitting down on a cold iron bench. 

Hamish brushed the snow off the seat and sat with her.  “How long will that be?”

“ ’Bout five minutes.”

“Then…I have a question,” he answered.  “You said before that I couldn’t go to Netherspace because I’d never not existed.  You said…that you’d ensured my existence.  What did you mean by that?”

            She looked down, not meeting his eyes.  For a moment, the one sound was the chatter on the cobblestone street.  Finally, she looked up with a fake smile.  “I gave the adoption papers to your parents on their wedding day—did you know that?  Even then, they knew they wanted you.”

            “I didn’t know that.  Father never told me.”

            “The reason I gave them the papers…the reason I needed you to be with them…well, I met a future version of myself!” she said brightly.  “And she told me that I needed to arrange your adoption so Sherlock and John would become your fathers.”

            “And why is that?” he asked.

            “Because.”

            “Because why?”

            “Because she said I’d need you,” she shrugged.  “I dunno, Junior, I just follow my own advice, and it’s usually never let me down.  She said you were going to be my companion, and you are.  Problem?”

            “Nope.”  He grinned.  “Future Clara likes me.”

            “Easy, big boy—Future Clara _appreciates_ you.  Let’s not muddle the lines, Hamish,” she said with a matching smile until she saw the barrel of a gun press into Hamish’s temple.  “Hamish.  Don’t move.”

            His eyes widened in fear and he froze as soon as he felt the cold metal connect to his skin.

            Clara spoke in a low voice at the unseen offender.  “Whoever you are, whatever you think you’re doing, trust me—you’re definitely going to want to put the gun _down_.”

            A head peeked out from behind Hamish with an impish smile, saying, “Hi, there, adorable.  Nice scarf.  Who’s the baggage?”

            Clara let out a sigh of relief.  “Put the gun _down_ , Jack!  He’s with me.”

            “Apologies,” Jack said, pulling the gun away from Hamish, who let out a huge gasp of gratitude.  He straightened up and smoothed down his coat.  “Hello, beautiful—Captain Jack Harkness, and might I say, you are specifically my brand of cute,” he said, offering his hand to Hamish.

            “Er, Hamish Watson-Holmes.  Nice to meet you.”

            “Ah, a Watson-Holmes!” Jack said, surprised.  “I met your dad once back in ’96.  He helped us gather information on a rogue Slitheen—he thought it was just an average serial killer, but don’t tell him any different, dear.  Clara, is this one yours?”

            She narrowed her eyes.  “He’s with me, Jack.  And you should apologize for threatening his life with that thing.”

            “Right.  Sorry, cutie, I was just trying to protect Clara here.  She’s a little too trusting of humans, but we forgive her because she’s new at this whole Doctor thing.  Where’d you pick him up, Clara?”

            “I picked him up from the companion market, of course—he just happens to be the son of the best detective team on Earth.  Stop flirting with him, will you?”

            Jack winked.  “You already called dibs?  Well, shit.”

            “No, no, no, he’s only 17, I didn’t call anything,” Clara backpedaled, waving her hands to protest.  “He’s just my companion, he’s my friend.”

            Jack rolled his eyes.  “Well, I guess he’s a bit young for me, so you can have him, Clara.  As long as he pays for dinner.  I’m sort of tied up at the moment with someone else.  Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

            Hamish decided to speak up.  “We need your help.  Do you know River Song?”

            “River Song?” he laughed.  “Know her?  I was the stripper at her bachelorette party on the Lost Moon of Poosh!  Is she asking about me, because if she is, you can tell her I want my handcuff collection back…”

            Clara looked down guiltily.  “Perhaps we should find a secure location to talk.  Do you have a place we could crash?”

            “Oh, boy, do I.  Follow me, young lovers,” he said jovially, leading Clara and Hamish down the streets of Moscow.

            Clara had to quicken her pace to keep up with the taller men.  “So why are you living in Moscow?  When I met you, you were still working at Torchwood.  Did you retire?”

            “Something like that.”

            “Did you bring Ianto with you?”

            Jack stopped in his tracks, causing a clumsy Hamish to almost trip over himself on a snowbank, and looked straight ahead for a moment with a grim expression.  “No.”

            “Why wouldn’t you?  You didn’t break up with him, did you?”  Clara shook her head.  “I swear, Jack, if you let that boy go, I’ll never forgive you.”

            “Who’s Ianto?” Hamish asked.

            “Jack’s boyfriend.  So, where is he, Jack?  Want me to go pick him up?”

            “He’s dead, Clara.”

            They all stopped in the middle of a crowded street, where a market buzzed around them.  Unluckily for Hamish, they were right next to a particularly bloody butcher stand where pigs’ heads sat out in full view.  He could feel himself getting a little queasy.

            Clara looked at Jack with apologetic eyes.  “I’m so sorry, Captain.  I didn’t—I was being stupid.  I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be.  It was four years ago during the invasion of the 456.  He died…in my arms.”  He cleared his throat.  “We put Torchwood to bed after that, and I said I was going to leave the Earth, but I couldn’t really leave.  Not yet.  So I came here, because really, no one ever looks for people in Moscow.  Have you ever noticed that the aliens always seem to attack London?”

            Clara laughed somberly.  “Yeah, I have.  I’m sorry about Ianto.”

            “So am I, Oswald.  Moving on,” he said, beginning to walk again.

            “Wait, hold on!” Hamish said.  “You said before…when you were, erm, flirting with me…that you were tied up with someone else.”

            He narrowed his eyes at Hamish.  “It’s been four years.  Am I not allowed to see other people?  Was that part of the pinky promise I made Ianto when I gave him a ring pop?”

            “Don’t get defensive,” Hamish said.  “You’re entitled to date whoever you want, mate.  It’s none of my business, but I happen to have a father famous for deduction and I pick up on things, sometimes.”

            Jack looked angry until he realized how funny it was that he was actually talking to Sherlock Holmes’ son.  “Ha.  Okay, I get it, kid—and you’re right.  I’m sort of with someone right now.  It works out well, since…well, Clara knows I loved Ianto more than anything, and I always will.  All that crap they talk about true love and destiny and soul mates—well, Ianto was that, for me.  But I’m going to be living without him for a long, long time, pretty much forever, and I have to live with that loss.  I met someone here in a similar boat, someone who lost their ‘forever’.”  He reached an apartment on the corner that looked a mite nicer than the rest of the other flats on the block and buzzed them in.  “You’re about to meet her now.  Clara and Cute One, meet the missus.  She’s upstairs.”

            Clara and Hamish tentatively walked up the rickety steps until they got to the top floor, where a white door rained down paint flecks when they opened it.

            “Well, hello, gorgeous,” a low, sultry voice called from within.  Clara blanched and looked over to Hamish, who shrugged and walked inside.  “What time is it, Jack?”

            “Too early,” Jack answered, coming in behind the pair.  “Honey, I’m home.”

            “Brilliant,” Irene Adler said, lounging in a see-through robe on a divan.  She inclined her head toward the people in the doorway and gave them her most seductive smile.  “I don’t care what time it is.  Let’s have dinner.”


	4. Chapter 4

Hamish choked.  “Erm.  Hello.  Do you, erm, know that your robe is—”

            “Completely transparent?  I was rather counting on it, dear,” Irene said airily, flexing her legs and getting off the divan.  “The name’s Irene Adler, but Miss Adler to you, darlings.  I do get ever so cross when I’m not addressed like a lady, isn’t that right, Jack?”

            Jack chose to ignore that question and strode out of the washed out room and into the little kitchen.  “I’ll make chips, how does that sound?  Oh, Irene!” he exclaimed when he opened the pantry.  “How many times do I have to tell you to leave the riding crop in the bedroom?”  
            “I like to play with my food before I eat it,” she said.

            “You’re Miss Adler—you’re The Woman!” Hamish realized, prompting a jab in the ribs from Clara.

            “What woman?” she asked.

            “ _The_ Woman!  My father’s told me loads about you, actually.  The only woman who ever beat him, just the once.  Well, really, Dad made him tell it after he told me a bunch about how successful he is.”

            Irene raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow.  “What did you say your name was, dear?”

            “Hamish.  Hamish Watson-Holmes.”

            “Ahhh,” she said, folding her hands together.  “I should have seen it!  You look a bit like him, you know.  Your hair, your height.  I should have guessed.”

            She stood close to Hamish and put her hands around his face, which disconcerted Hamish a great deal—he was definitely still smitten with Clara, but there was a very attractive woman without decent clothing on getting close to him.  “Er, yeah, he…mentioned you.  Apparently you two had a…thing.”

            She frowned and released his face.  “Not really.  I wasn’t his type, apparently.”

            “Well, it’s not really your fault that Father’s into blokes,” he laughed nervously.

            “Well, it certainly wasn’t my plan to fall for a bloke—I happen to prefer the company of women.  So soft…” She drifted off, giving Clara a once-over that prompted Clara to cross her arms over her chest.  “Anyway, apparently he was the great exception to my rule, and I’m afraid I never got over it.  Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, Mr. Watson-Holmes.”

            “It’s fine. Are you sure you should be saying that in front of your husband?”

            “Jack’s not my husband,” she said sharply.  “I despise labels, dear.  Don’t apply one to me.  Jack’s…entertainment.”

            “She just uses me for the sex!” Jack shouted from the kitchenette, with a frying pan over a low flame and sizzling potatoes in it.  “Having an immortal slave does wonders for this woman’s sex drive.  No end to the ways she can—”

            “They get it, darling,” Irene said.  She gave Clara a cheeky grin.  “I’m a dominatrix, if you didn’t get that already.  Quite a lot of fun, if you’re interested, Miss…”

            “Oswald.  Clara Oswald,” she offered.  “And no, thanks, I don’t swing that way.  Well, I did once, or twice—there was a lovely girl named Nina, but that was a phase.  And there was also Harry.”

            “Harry?” Hamish blinked incredulously.  “Short for Harriet???”

            Clara’s eyes widened—she’d said too much.  “Er, Junior, did I ever tell you about a past life of mine where I was…married to your aunt?”

            Hamish was speechless for a moment before saying, “You probably should have let me know at some point that you were once my aunt!”

            “I’m not—you do realize that—oh, bollocks, I’ll explain it all later.  I think we all have some explaining to do,” Clara said, sitting on the divan with a huff.  “Jack, bring the chips.  I’m famished.”

            “Your wish, my command, princess,” Jack replied, bringing over a plateful.  “Irene won’t have them—she’s too worried about her figure.  Let’s all go around the campfire and talk about our dreams, kiddies!”

            Clara rolled her eyes.  “Jack, explain how you got here—I thought you took your vortex manipulator to see the stars, and somehow you ended up in Moscow with Sherlock Holmes’ old flame—no offense, Miss Adler.”

            “I can punish you for it later,” Irene purred, but Jack cut her off.

            “After the 456, I walked the Earth for a long time, just trying to forget everything that happened that day, to my grandson and…Ianto.  A few years back, I came here and met Irene, who was on the run.”

            “As Hamish knows and you have yet to learn, Miss Oswald,” Irene said, “I’m a dominatrix and I make it my business to know what very important people like, and I had a bit of a kitty of information on a lot of English officials.  I was planning this huge deal that would tangle with the British government based on this information, a deal that would leave me rich and well-protected, but I made the most basic of human mistakes…and I fell in love with your father, Hamish,” she explained matter-of-factly.  “Mad Sherlock Holmes.  I still think of him, often—I nearly had him, but I wasn’t John Watson.  I should have known I never stood a chance.  Anyway, he made it clear he wasn’t interested, and the deal fell through when he beat me at my game, so I was on the run from the people I’d angered.  There’s a fortune out there for the person who kills me.  I was nearly murdered in the Middle East, but Sherlock had the mercy to come and save me, and I went into hiding here in Moscow, where I met an insatiable, immortal captain from the Boeshane Peninsula.”

            Jack gave her a winning, movie-star smile.  “I love it when you call me that.  We met up here, and we had a lot in common—unstoppable flirts, great in bed, fans of open relationships, heartbroken after losing our one true loves—and so we started living together.  And somewhere along the line we started to become a ‘thing’, as you put it, Hamish.”

            Hamish shook his head and said, “I don’t get it.  You guys are completely fine with the fact that you love other people?”  
            “It’s not that simple, kiddo,” Jack said.  “As much as I’ll always love Ianto, he’s gone, and Irene can never be with your father.  And we make each other happy, and we understand each other.  And I happen to love Irene very much.”

            “Oh, likewise, dear,” she smirked.  “He still lets me take clients and everything.  It’s quite refreshing to be attached to a 51st century man.  You two should try it sometime—add some spice to your cute little fling.”

            “Oh, we’re not—Hamish is too young, and I’m not interested.  He’s just my companion,” Clara said definitively.

            He nodded weakly in agreement.  “Right.  Just friends.”

            “Of course you are,” Irene said sarcastically.  “Well, let’s hear your story.  I’m just fascinated by the whole time travel idea.  I assume Hamish is from the future, because the Sherlock in this year is probably getting married right about now.”

            Clara began to tell the story in its entirety.  “Right.  Well, my name is Clara Oswin Oswald…and I’m the daughter of the Doctor.”

            “Yes, Jack’s told me all about the Doctor and the TARDIS.  They sound absolutely delicious,” Irene said.

            “Well, I guess.  Anyway, I actually just found out about this whole thing only four months ago.  My father, the Doctor, traveled through all of time and space in the TARDIS, and he married the daughter of two of his companions—River Song.  River, my mum, is a time-traveler too, like Jack, and when she got pregnant with me, she was kidnapped by a man named James Moriarty.”

            Irene’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling.  “Moriarty?  _The_ James Moriarty?  I thought he was dead.”

            “He was—he came back, he regenerated somehow.  Some creatures in the universe can do that, they can come back to life after being injured.  The Doctor could do it, only he’d become a different man after regenerating.  My mum could do it, too, before she gave her regenerations to him to save him.  In any case,” Clara explained, “Moriarty kidnapped her in order to capture the Doctor and keep him hostage forever, but the Doctor managed to defeat him with a lot of help, from your dads, actually.”  She smiled at Hamish.  “Did your dads ever tell you about what happened on Starship Moriarty?”

            “Only bits and pieces.”

            “Well, River was rescued and she gave birth to me, but parts of the universe that Moriarty pulled apart were coming back together, and somehow my birth was a paradox and I ceased to exist.  However, the Doctor managed to save me, like a computer file, to the TARDIS and send me out all over the universe into different human bodies that always look the same but don’t remember anything from their past.  Every time I die, I’m born again as Clara, but I don’t remember any other life I’ve had.  Well, I do remember _now_ , since the Doctor helped me, and that’s how to explain the whole Harry thing to you,” she added helpfully.  “Don’t be creeped out—in this version of Clara Oswald, I’ve never been anywhere near Harriet.”

            Hamish nodded and thought quietly to himself that on the day he married Clara, he would probably not be able to invite his Aunt Harry.

            “You’re using the past tense,” Jack noticed.  “What happened to the Doctor? And River?  You said you needed help.”

            “I do.”  Clara took a deep breath.  “I’d been the Doctor’s companion for a long time before we realized I was his daughter, and on the same day that we found out and reunited our family, something horrible happened on the Fields of Trenzalore.”

            Jack grimaced.  “Trenzalore?  But that means…”

            “You can say it, Jack,” Clara said darkly, putting her head in her hands.  “Or better yet, I will.  On the same day I found out the Doctor was my father, I killed him.”

            A deadly silence invaded the room.  Clara sighed deeply and hugged her arms around herself, and Hamish saw the side of her he hadn’t in the short time he’d known her—genuinely afraid.  Sad, and small, somehow.  He was shocked to hear what she’d had to say, but he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

            “It was an accident,” she said in a small voice.  “I was being tortured—it was really bad—and I asked him what his name was.  And he answered, and when he did, the whole planet of Gallifrey came back from its time lock and in order to stop the Time Lords from escaping, the Doctor sacrificed himself.  And it was my fault, if I’d just kept my mouth shut and been stronger than the… Well.  Anyway, that’s…well.”  A stray tear was visible on her left cheek, and Hamish wanted nothing more than to take the girl he’d fallen in love with seven hours ago and hold her until she didn’t feel guilty anymore. 

Instead, he opted for taking her hand.  “It wasn’t your fault.  And you’re trying to fix it, eh?  Chin up, Oswald.”

She wiped the tear away and continued.  “Mum…I mean, River…went to the Library after that to find information on how to bring him back, and we have a plan, but the problem now is River.  She died in the Library, but her mind is still alive, and it needs a body to live in to help me take the TARDIS where it needs to go to rescue him.  So I’ve been looking everywhere for someone willing…to let River take over.  And I realize it’s a lot to ask, I _know_ it is, and I’d do it myself, but I need to take the TARDIS and go get him myself, so… Jack.”  She cleared her throat and began her pitch.  “I was wondering if you’d…be willing to do that.  I figured, since you already have such a long life ahead of you, that maybe you’d want some rest or peace or something and be willing to let go.”

Jack’s jaw fell open.  “I’m sorry, but that sounds completely batshit.  I’d love to help River, and all, but I’m not going to kill myself to do it.  Listen, Clara, I’m really sorry about the Doctor. You know I am.  I just can’t—the idea that—ugh, this is _not_ the sort of thing you ask a family friend, immortal or not.  Would River even _want_ to be in a man’s body, as flawless as this one is?”

“I doubt she’d mind.  In fact, I think she’d get a kick out of it,” Clara said weakly.  “I’m sorry, Jack.  I was running out of options.  I didn’t mean to waste your time, so forget about this.  It’s fine.”  She got up off the couch to leave.  “It was great seeing you again, Captain.  Nice to meet you, Miss Adler—I hope Jack makes you happy.  Come on, Junior!”  
            A bewildered Hamish followed her to the door until they both her Jack grumble.

“Wait!  Wait, damn it!”  He ran a hand through his hair as Clara turned on her heels with a hopeful expression.  “Maybe we could work something out.  _Maybe_.  I owe the Doctor a lot, and if I can help him by killing myself, it might be worth it.  Besides, it might be my only chance to die.  Will you—will you give me the night to think about it?”

Clara smiled and ran up to hug Jack.  “Take all the time you need.  I happen to have a machine that can travel through it.  Thank you, thank you, Jack!” She pecked him on the cheek and ran out of the flat excitedly with Hamish in tow, who bestowed a withering glance at Captain Jack for landing a kiss on the cheek from the woman of his dreams.

“Oh, stop looking so sour,” Clara said when she noticed his expression.  “Come on, let’s give him some time to think about it.  I’m sure he’ll say yes—in the meantime, do you want to go somewhere fun?  I’ve read there’s a planet where everything is green, and I mean everything.  I love green, don’t you?”


	5. Chapter 5

_The space, however you perceive it or measure it, is like taffy, constantly being pulled in a taffy-puller.  Though there are no walls or floors or ceilings to mark the stretching, you can tell that somehow, the space is being pulled and stretched across a canvas where there is no time, no location, only shadows._

_It could be a truly beautiful place—if there is no boundary to any form or mind or place, there is no way to keep knowledge out.  It can be stretched as well along the planes, twining and twisting into strings of everything.  The dimension hummed with potential._

_And he was there, though he couldn’t tell he was himself.  In some capacity, he could feel his memories and his being around him in the same place, slowly being stretched like everything else, but there was barely any consciousness.  He supposed, with the limited thoughts he had, that in time he’d get a handle on himself and remember everything._

_But what was time, really?  He remembered…he’d known a thing or two about it, about how it worked, once._

_After a while (he supposed), he found himself walking.  That was new—he didn’t know he could walk.  He’d forgotten what legs were until he realized he was walking, but there wasn’t anything he was walking to.  There was something important, or there had been, at some point.  Was it still important?  Could anything be important here?_

_There had been someone.  Someone warm.  That was all he could think of, for a long time.  Someone who made him feel warm inside.  If he had an inside.  Did he have an inside?_

_It took ages to distinguish it all, and he evolved completely from some primordial ooze of a man to someone who could start to form thoughts again.  It was a torturous process, as slow as pulling his legs out of a vat of molasses and mud, and the air—he remembered air, now—created a vacuum around his mind, where he had to fight harder than he ever had in his life to keep the memories he’d worked so hard to gain with him._

_When he could finally speak, it was like coming to the surface of the ocean after nearly drowning.  “River,” he said to the echoing depths.  “Her name is River.”_

_And then it started to make more sense, and he could feel her low voice, and taste the light in her hair, and hear the softness of her in the heat of his new, glowing memories.  There had been a someone named River, and then he remembered there had been a special person named Clara, who made him warm, as well, but in a different way.  The warmth strengthened him and encouraged him.  He kept walking forward, pulling his legs up and out of the quicksand, and it dawned on him.  “Oh,” he said incredulously.  “So_ that’s _who I was.”_

* * * * * * *

            Clara tumbled into the police box in a fight of giggles, waving green tendrils of mists off her shoulders.  “Oh my goodness!” she laughed breathlessly.  “I don’t think I’ll ever get this off!”

            “It’s just gas, Clara,” Hamish said.  He shook out his hair and dispelled green gas out of his hair, restoring it to its normal dark color.  Brushing the green off his clothes, he got to work on her face and drew a smiley face onto her cheek before wiping off the green smoke.  “What do we do now, then?  Should we go to Jack and see if he’s made a decision?”

            “Nah, he should have the night to think about it.”  Clara walked up to the TARDIS console and took the machine to a relatively calm galaxy so they could relax.

            Hamish rubbed the green out of his eyebrows before he raised them in suspicion.  “We happen to have a time machine—can’t we just take it to the morning he decides?”

            “We could, but I’m not a Time Lord, at least, not anymore.  I’m a human, and I like to try and keep a human schedule.  That means regular sleep hours!” Clara said.  “Come on, don’t you want to see the room Sexy made for you?”

            Hamish couldn’t deny that he wanted to, so he followed her into the hall the ascended from the console platform.

            “Hmm,” she said, glancing down the corridor.  “Ah, here it is!  It even has your name on it, isn’t that sweet, Junior?”

            Hamish looked at the door, expecting to his name and grimacing when he saw that the door read ‘Junior’s Room.’  Apparently the TARDIS had a sense of humor.  “I don’t suppose I could change that, could I?”

            “Why would you want to?” Clara wiggled her eyebrows and put a hand on the doorknob.  “Ready?”

            He nodded.  “Open it.”

            She turned the doorknob and the door clicked open, and Hamish gasped.  “What do you think?  Up to your standards, Mr. Watson-Holmes?”

            He ran excitedly into the room. “It has a _spaceship bed_!!!  Oh, I asked Father for one of these for Christmas and I got a chemistry set instead, and I was so mad—I can’t believe it!”

            Sure enough, in the righthand corner of the room, there was a bed inside the comic-book-style model of a space ship, sort of like the car bed Clara’s cousin had when he was twelve.  Hamish laughed gleefully and jumped onto the bed.  “Springy, too,” he affirmed for her.  Clara decided to test it herself and began to jump on the bed while he examined the rest of the room.  “Bean bag chair, glow stars on the ceiling—look, Sexy put my posters up already!  Thank you, Sexy!  And over here, there’s—Clara, look at this, do you see this?—there’s a lab!  Look, there’s a microscope and beakers and— _there’s a fridge, too!_ ”  He opened the fridge and squealed.  “Chocolate ice cream.  This is the coolest room ever.”

            Clara flopped on the bed and smiled.  “I’m glad you like it.  It’s right next to mine—weird, huh?”

            “What?”  Hamish was momentarily distracted from his room by the idea that Clara would be sleeping one room away, but he quickly banished the goofy grin on his face.  “Er, right, that’s…weird.  Right.”

            “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Clara said.  “Feel free to explore this hall, Junior, but please, don’t go beyond the end of the corridor.”

            He frowned.  “Why?”

            “You know how in all the movies, they tell the character not to go somewhere and they do and something bad happens to them?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Just don’t do it, Junior.  Trust me on this one, I got lost in the TARDIS once and I nearly died.  This ship is infinite, and there are things on board that I don’t even know about or understand, and the Doctor didn’t either.  The TARDIS modified her layout so this hall is all bedrooms and house rooms.  There’s a kitchen on the left, a bathroom with a huge tub three doors down, and a sick bay for when you have the sniffles.  That’s all you need.”

            Hamish seriously considered checking out the crazy stuff there was in the back of the TARDIS, but he didn’t want to risk angering Clara.  “All right, I won’t leave the hall. Scout’s honor.”

            “That’s my Junior,” she laughed.  “Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

* * * * * * *

            “Woman, if anything could be the death of me, you would be at the very top of the list,” Jack said as he rolled off the bed.

            Irene sprang off the bed with every hair in place, still looking perfect after a few hours of fun time with the Captain.  “Darling, I wrote the list.  I’ve written every list.”

            “I’d believe that.  Whoo,” he said breathlessly.  “Is it too early after shagging to talk about what happened this afternoon?”

            “Not at all.”  She crossed her legs and straightened her robe.  “I’m curious.  What are you thinking you’re going to say to her?”

            He blew air through his teeth and climbed back onto the bed.  “I have no idea.  On the one hand, it’s absolutely nuts.  She wants me to basically get rid of my own brain to bring River back, and while I care about River, I don’t exactly want to die for her.  I’m sure she would feel the same about me.  I can’t even imagine someone walking around in my body, without my brain in it.”  He paused, staring and the ceiling, and then added, “On the other hand…it may be my only shot at dying.  And while I don’t exactly want to die, there’s going to be a time in the future—and I don’t know how soon this time will be—that I’ll wish I’d said yes.”

            “No, there won’t be,” Irene said quietly.  Absently she stroked Jack’s forehead with a tenderness she’d rarely shown to anyone; even though she’d always love the consulting detective who’d refused her, she genuinely loved Jack.  He was the only one who’d ever been able to understand.  “The solution is simple, darling.  I’m going to do it.”

            Jack blanched.  “What?  No, Irene, there’s no way I’m letting you do that.”

            “Now, don’t get sentimental, you know it annoys me,” she snapped.  “You know the reason I’m in Moscow in the first place—people have been looking for me, and they’re not going to stop until I’m dead.  I’ve been running for three years now and they’re going to catch up to me sooner or later.  I might as well leave with a bang.”

            She said this all very matter-of-factly, which Jack couldn’t stand.  “Damn it, Irene, I’m not going to let you—you can’t do this.  We’re going to work something else out, do you hear me?”

            Irene didn’t respond, so he took her cool face in his hands.  “Irene, you can’t.  You’re not going to die, and they’re not going to get you.  We’ll run forever if we have to.  I’ll take you to see the stars.”

            She shook her head.  “I’m tired of running, dear.  Makes me feel submissive, which I absolutely loathe.  I want to be in control of my own life, Jack, and I’m not anymore.  Do you know how much that kills me?”

            He swallowed.  “I thought…you were happy.  With me.”

            “Don’t be an idiot, I adore being with you.  You saved my soul, Captain Jack Harkness.  I used to believe I didn’t have one,” she said fondly, kissing him on the forehead.  She never kissed anyone on the forehead, no one but Jack, who’d earned it.  “I think the only way to redeem mine for good is a nice sacrifice like this, and it cleans things up quite nicely, don’t you think?”

            “ _You_ don’t be an idiot.  I don’t want to live without you, Irene, and you’re going to force me into it because of this stupid immortality thing.”

            She only chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.  “Oh, I am going to miss you.  I could have grown old with you, I think, if you were able to and I didn’t have a price on my head.  But let’s not muck it up while we’re still alive and happy, shall we?”

* * * * * * *

Hamish had been asleep for about six hours after thoroughly tiring himself out in the TARDIS.  He inspected each individual graduated cylinder in his lab, he put the picture of his dads on his desk, and he even pretended his bed was a real spaceship, like a little kid, and made silly noises while he pretended to drive it.  The bathtub was shaped like a trapezoid and had different switches that changed the color of the water and the amount of bubbles (which Hamish immediately related to Harry Potter), and the pantry was so huge that he’d nearly gotten lost in it.

            He’d even ventured into the sick bay for the fun of it, and he’d noticed a cot in the back with a white cloth covering a lumpy form.  A little bit scared but even more curious, he’d tread quietly to come closer to it and lifted a corner of the white blanket.

            Hamish shrieked and tripped backwards at the sight of the thing under the blanket—a sallow-looking man was lying underneath it, with tubes plugged into his hands and chest.  Summoning his courage, he got up and looked at the body more closely, trying to emulate his fathers, who were comfortable around dead bodies.

            He took his pulse—definitely dead.  Then why the wires and the beeping?

            The man was light-skinned with curly ginger hair, and his hands were folded neatly on his chest just beneath two bandages.

            Carefully, he folded the blanket back over the body and went to the sink to wash his hands furiously.  Then he marched over to Clara’s room, ready to wake her up and ask why there was a dead man in their sick bay.

            He slowly opened the door and tiptoed in, looking to see where Clara was sleeping when he noticed that she wasn’t sleeping at all.  In fact, she was curled up with her arms around her knees on a big armchair in the corner.  She stared off into the distance, looking like she had been concentrating on something before Hamish bothered her.  “What is it, Junior?”

            “There’s a dead man.  In the hospital room.  With lots of tubes and stuff in him.”  He swallowed.  “Why?”

            She rolled her eyes.  “So there is, Junior.  You’re a quick study, wow.”

            “Don’t be sarcastic, there’s a bloody corpse on this ship and I’m scared out of my wits!  Could you give me an explanation instead of patronizing me?”

            “It’s the Doctor, clearly,” she snapped.  “Where do you think we put him after he died?  How do you think we’re going to bring him back from Netherspace—he needs a body, genius!”

            “But he’s…dead.  I mean, his body is dead.  He doesn’t have a heartbeat.”

            “Oh, well-spotted.  It’s not like we’re on a spaceship that has the power to restart hearts or anything—I mean, they have equipment in hospitals for that.”

            “That doesn’t make sense,” Hamish said.  “Why can’t you just bring him back to life, then?  Can’t you restart his heart?”

            “ _Get with the program, Junior!_ ” she hissed, getting up out of her chair and standing to meet “His mind is gone!  Gone!  Dead!  Restarting a heart—or two—won’t bring him back!  Don’t you think I would have _tried_ it that, if I knew there was a possibility it could work?  It’s missing a _soul_ , Hamish, and I have to—I have—I need to—” She tried to keep fitful tears at bay, smacking her fists on Hamish’s chest.  “You’re so _stupid_ , you’re so tall and _stupid_ and you don’t get it, I _hate hate HATE_ you—”

            And then she began to cry, well and truly cry, whimpering sobs that echoed off the walls.  She crumpled onto her chair and held herself, trying to wipe away her face-flooding tears.

            Hamish was shocked to see her so upset, and he realized how little time had passed since he met this girl.  Almost two days ago, she’d landed in the middle of his living room, and he’d jumped into her blue box without a single care because he was sure, as soon as he first saw her, that she was the girl for him.

            And now he knew this.  He knew that she had been the cause—accidental though it might have been—of the Doctor’s death.  He knew that she had a dead body aboard her ship that she wanted to revive, and he knew that she was asking a family friend to die in order to do it.

            She’d seemed sweet, so kind and funny… But he’d heard stories about her father, the wonderful, funny old man who hadn’t shied away from death when he’d had the chance.  From what Sherlock had told him on some late nights, the Doctor had been a truly bright presence, but he had had his dark moments where he’d killed and terrified the universe.  And now, it looked like his daughter was going the same way.

            He was scared.

            But seeing Clara on the armchair, crying to herself over and over, he realized that this brilliant, mad, clever girl was really just that.  This girl wasn’t a killer.  She was just a young woman who felt an immense amount of guilt for something she hadn’t meant to do.  He couldn’t even begin to imagine learning that his best friend was really his father and then destroying him on the same day.  Clara had dealt with something huge and she was trying to fix it in the only way she knew how.  She had huge shoes to fill.

            Somehow, the fact that she was human, that she wasn’t some perfect angel in a blue box who could do no wrong made him want her more and fall even more deeply in love with her.  Clara was a human, who could feel just like him.

            And he could feel for her, now.  “Clara,” he said, “please look at me.”  He put a tentative hand on her shoulder and rubbed a few awkward circles into it, but she wouldn’t look at him.

            Hamish straightened up and walked out of the room.  Clara only looked up when he left, hiccupping nervously.  “J-Junior?” she called after him, without an answer.  “Junior, p-please—I’m sorry, I—”

            She heard a crash down the hall and scrambled out of her chair.  She wiped at her sticky, tear-streaked cheeks and brushed them off on her pajama pants.  “Hamish?”

            He peeked his head out of the kitchen and smiled when he saw her.  “I’m here, sorry—I was just thinking, whenever I was really upset, my dad—John, I mean—he’d bring me a mug of warm milk.  I mean, it was milk, but he would warm it up on the stove and he’d put marshmallows on top, because I didn’t like hot chocolate for some reason when I was a kid but I still wanted marshmallows in a drink.  And he’d read me from his blog, which actually helped because it was so boring that it would help me fall asleep.  So I thought,” he said, holding a mug in his hands, “that, er, maybe it would help.  Granted, I did microwave this, and I _think_ these are marshmallows—”

            She ignored him and took it gratefully, gulping down the scalding hot milk and sighing in relief when she finished it.  An adorable milk mustache remained on her upper lip.  “Make me another,” she ordered him.  “Meet me in my room with the milk, Junior.”

            “Er, okay,” he said with a smile.  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about everything.  I hope you know that…I don’t think any less of you, for the things that’ve happened to you.  You’re trying to fix everything, which is more than what a lot of people would be willing to do.  And I’m going to help you do it.”

            She only gave him a small smile that meant ‘thank you.’  “Milk, then, Hamish.  Snap to it, Companion-of-Mine.”

            He nodded and went back to the kitchen to heat up more milk.  A day ago, he would have been beyond ecstatic to get invited to a cute girl’s bedroom, but he didn’t see it that way anymore.  He was going to be there for Clara, as her friend, if that was what she needed.

            With the mug back in hand, he went back to Clara’s room and made her scoot over on her bed.  “Do you want me to read to you?”

            “Please,” she answered, taking the mug and sipping from it a bit at a time.

            “Any requests?”

            “Your dad’s blog sounds great.  I haven’t been able to sleep all night.”  She snuggled up against her pillow, to Hamish’s dismay, but he didn’t let it show.  He took her laptop off her desk and pulled up his dad’s blog, starting with the first entry.  “ “A Study in Pink, by John H. Watson…’ ”


	6. Chapter 6

“Rise and shine, Junior!” Clara said brightly, jumping on her bed.  “Wakey-wakey, best companion ever!!!!”

            He grumbled and rolled over onto his side, groggy until he snapped awake and realized that he had just spent his first night in a time machine in the bed of the girl he’d fallen in love with at first sight.  He sprang to attention, reviewing everything that had happened the night before, and was a bit disappointed that he hadn’t managed to at least snuggle with her.  “Morning, Clara.  Did I spend the whole night here?”

            “You’re the son of Sherlock Holmes—deduce it for yourself,” she joked.  “There’s tea and biscuits in the kitchen, and I took the liberty of heating up some Crème à la Junior for you.”

            Rubbing his eyes, he asked, “What’s Crème à la Junior?”

            “Milk and marshmallows, of course.  It’s a TARDIS specialty now,” she said, flaunting around with her coat and scarf already on.  “Come on, I’m ready to go.  Don’t you want to see Captain Jack?”

            “Well, I don’t _not_ want to see him.”  He got up and out of the bed and went to his room next door to grab some new jeans and a shirt.  Slipping on the long trench coat she’d given him, he met her in the kitchen for breakfast.  “How do you get ready so quickly in the morning?”

            “Same way you do, I reckon,” she said over her milk.  “I’ll have to thank John for this.  It’s absolutely perfect.”

            “You can’t just drink it all the time—it won’t work as well when you really need it.”

            “Oh, I don’t know about that.”  She passed him a mug and greedily sipped from her own.  “Some things never go out of style, I think.  Thanks, by the way.  For last night.  I…don’t know what came over me.”

            “Don’t worry about it.  It’s forgotten.  Besides, you’ve been under a lot of pressure,” he said with a shrug.  “So, do you think—”

            Hamish was cut off by a loud screeching sound that came from the console room.  His eyes met Clara’s over the table and they both abandoned the kitchen to run and inspect what was going on.  In the console, the screens were buzzing wildly.

            “What is it, Sexy?  What’s wrong?” Hamish asked the wailing console.

            Clara shook her head at him.  “She’s not _Lassie_ , you git!”  She flailed her hands around her head to try and remember how to interpret TARDIS behaviors and then snapped her fingers.  With a quick type into the keyboard, she pulled up the TARDIS error codes and turned off the noise.  “Okay, old girl, let’s see what you’re trying to tell us.”  Images of Moscow popped up by the hundreds on the silenced screens.  Clara’s eyes widened.  “I think we need to go see Jack.  _Now_.”

            She slammed the controlling lever up and sent them swirling through the vortex to land back in Moscow on the day after they’d first seen Jack.  Hamish ran to the door and opened it for her, which he supposed was going to become a habit, and they rushed outside together.  Down the street, falling slowly with the drifting snow, ashes were clouding the air.  Ashes from a smoking building down the block.

            “Come on!” she cried, grabbing Hamish by the hand and pulling him down the street quickly filling up with a crowd who wanted to see the burning building as well.  “Hamish, quickly!!! _HURRY_!”

            Hamish panted to keep up with her, unused to this level of exercise, and he felt his heart pumping in his ears from more than just exertion.  He was afraid he knew exactly which building was on fire, and his fears only grew as they flew past the market they’d walked through yesterday and slammed to a stop in front of a blazing building.

            It was an apartment building—no, THE apartment building—and the top flat was pouring smoke out of the windows in huge, grey billows that clouded the sky.  People were screaming or pointing or even laughing, and no firetruck seemed to be in sight.  “It’s—Miss Adler and Jack’s place,” he panted breathlessly.  “You don’t think—I mean, surely they got out in time—”

            “People wanted Irene dead,” Clara said quietly to herself.  “We shouldn’t have left them.”

            “Shouldn’t someone call the fire brigade?  Is there even a fire brigade in Russia?” he asked, but Clara was already gone.  He jumped when he realized she wasn’t by his side anymore and scanned the crowd until he saw her, running furiously back in the direction they’d come from.  “No,” he said.  “No.  No.  _No._   Clara!  Clara, stop!”

            “Stay way you are!” she shouted behind her.  “I’ll be back in five minutes!  I said _stay where you are,_ Hamish!”

            He ran to catch up with her, which wasn’t hard with his longer legs, but she was still yards ahead and pumping her arms faster to get away.  “Clara, you’re _not_ taking the TARDIS in there!  It’s an inferno!!!”

            “The TARDIS can’t be burned, idiot!  It’s a magical machine!”

            “ _You_ can burn, Clara!  Don’t be stupid, let’s wait for the fire brigade!”

            “People—are trying—to kill them!” she screamed.  “The Doctor told me that it’s MY job to protect people, and I’ll be damned if I don’t save them!”

            Hamish continued to follow her until she slammed into the TARDIS doors and tried to jam the keys into the lock.  He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to turn around.  “Stop, just stop!  You won’t be any help on the inside, Clara, you’re not an alien—you can burn and choke the same as the rest of us!  Jack’s immortal, he won’t die in there.  He’ll get Irene out of there, okay?  Just wait!”  
            “Get off me!!!” she hissed while struggling against him.  “Get off, you idiot, get off!  I know what I’m doing!”

            She managed to turn around and fit the key into the lock, pulling open the door and shoving him off.  Hamish stuck his arm in the door before she could close it and looked at her pleadingly.  “Clara.  If you’re serious about this…at least let me come with you.  I’m your companion, you goon.  I’m meant to be here with you.”

            Clara stopped in her tracks and her angry expression melted into one of pure concern.  A small half-smile played on her lips, seeing Hamish so ready to be with her and support her.

            In that one moment, she saw something in Hamish that the Doctor must have seen in his companions.  There was a spark of bravery, of being willing to rise above what humans are meant to do.  And there was something else, something beautiful in his unwavering gaze.  And she remembered something.  “It’s been two days since I stole you away.”

            “Yeah?”

            “So,” she said, “Happy Birthday.”

            He blinked, realizing she was right.  “Wow.”

            “I have to keep you safe,” she insisted quietly.  “For your parents. I need you to be safe, so I can take you home.  So I’m sorry, Hamish.”

            “Sorry for—AUGHHH!” he cried as Clara sent a knee straight into his groin and he fell away from the blue box, clutching at his trousers.  Clara locked the door in his face and ran to the TARDIS, praying that she’d land in the right place the first time around.  “Come on, Sexy,” she whispered.  “Help me get it right—Irene’s flat, come on!”

            The TARDIS whirred and took off, landing her quickly.  Clara wrapped her scarf around her nose and took a deep breath before stepping out of the door and into the blazing room.  Black smoke was everywhere—Clara had always imagined that fires were bright, but the room was full of just the smoke that obscured the flame.  All she could tell about the fire was that it was there; she could hear it crackling.

            “Irene!” she coughed.  “Jack!  It’s me!”

            There was no response.  With a tentative step, she got out of the TARDIS and onto the burning floor, crying out when a hidden flame licked at her ankle.  “Jack, I have the TARDIS!  Where are you?!”

            She heard shouting from some obscured part of the flat, but the smoke was blinding her.  Her eyes were stinging and brimming with water that she didn’t know the source of—was she trying to keep her eyes cool or was she crying?  She hoped she wasn’t crying.  “JACK!” she screamed over the crackle of the flames.  Floorboards were falling out, she could hear them.  Beams in the ceilings were loosening and falling to the floor.  Hamish had been right.  This wasn’t safe.

            “JACK!” she called again, tripping and catching herself and burning her hands in the process.  “JACK, PLEASE!”

            Muffled shouts could be heard, and she was sure it was Jack, so she kept walking into the fire.  “Jack?  Irene, is that you?!?”

            The shouts continued until a bang and a smash were heard, and suddenly there was an opening in the room and the smoke had somewhere to pour out of.  Clara gasped in relief, on the brink of suffocating, and reached her arms out.  “Jack!  Jack, please!”

            The form in the opening barreled quickly through the room and scooped Clara up by the waist and pushed her back into the blue box she’d wandered from—had it only been right behind her?  It had seemed miles away.  She heard the door click behind her and relied on the only sense she had, since her vision was still full of smoke and soot and ash.  There were foreign arms maneuvering her up the steps and she could hear the TARDIS buzzing worriedly.

            “Clara—bloody hell, your hands—Clara, I don’t know how to drive the TARDIS, you have to do it, or tell me what to do.”

            She reached out blindly for the controls, unaware of what she was really doing.  “J-J—,” she choked out, leaning over what must have been the console.  The hands steadied her.

            “Come on, darling, just take us back to where we just were.  That’ll be easy, eh?  Come on, Clara, you can do it, and then you can rest.”

            Her fingers fumbled around for purchase, and she finally found the right lever and pulled it, slumping in exhaustion against the controls.  The body behind her caught her as she swayed and half-dragged her to the sick bay, where she sat up on a cot and let her head loll to the side.  “I need to…where’s Irene?”

            “Clara, just relax, love.  Where can I find burn medicine?”

            She shook her head.  “There are nanogens in the top cabinet.  Just release ’em, they’ll take care of it.”  She blinked a few times to let her eyes adjust to the bright white room.  “J-Junior?”

            A very sooty Hamish paused in surprise before releasing the nanogens into the room, which glommed onto Clara’s hands and ankle to repair the burns.  “How did you…I thought you thought I was Jack.”

        “I _thought_ it was Jack.  I hoped it was you.”  She coughed raggedly for a moment and Hamish came to her side, rubbing circles into her back.  Her throat burned.  “Where’s—where is Jack?  Did you see him and Irene?”

        “No, but don’t worry about them.  Jack’s immortal, remember?  He’ll protect Irene.  Let’s focus on you right now.”  He rummaged through the medicine cabinets, looking for something for Clara’s cough.

        “Why did you do that?” she said, shifting on the cot.  “You could have gotten killed.”

        “So could you.  I mean, it wasn’t a big deal.  No one was bothering to help, so I went up the stairs and kicked the door in.  You were only a few meters away.”

        “Were you hurt?”

        “Nah, I’m fine.  Stop worrying so much, Clara.”  He got a glass of water and filled it up, offering it to her.  She gulped at it while he apologized.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t find any cough medicine, but all the medicines have alien labels.”

        She smiled gratefully.  “Thank you, Hamish.”

        He nodded, and perhaps emboldened by the fact that he’d saved Clara, he leaned down and kissed her softly on the forehead.  “What are companions for?”

        Before Clara could answer that unfathomable question, loud knocking was heard on the door to the TARDIS.  Hamish went to answer the door after telling Clara to stay put and ignoring her protests.

        “CLARA, IT’S ME!  OPEN THE DAMN DOOR, NOW!”

        Hamish rushed and flung the door wide open.  “Jack!”

        Captain Jack Harkness, horribly burnt down the side of his face, ran inside with a body in his arms, and Hamish shut the door behind him.  “Take us to the Library.”

        “The Library???” Hamish asked incredulously.  “You need a hospital—I’m pretty sure we have everything here in the sick bay, and Clara’s already in there.  She went to save you.  What the bloody hell happened?”

        “Irene’s enemies—they’ve known we were here,” Jack gasped, pulling the limp body that Hamish realized was an unconscious Irene up the stairs.  “They locked us in and concentrated the fire in our flat, so we couldn’t escape.  I ran through the fire to get help, and she locked herself in her room and tried to keep out the smoke, but by the time I—by the time—” Jack stopped talking to collect himself, as tears were streaming full-force down his face.

        “We can save her, Jack.  Whatever it is, we can help,” Hamish insisted.

        Jack shook his head.  “She’d suffocated by the time I got back.  Irene’s dead, Hamish.  But that shouldn’t be a problem for what we have in mind.”

        Hamish blanched.  “Jack…Jack, I’m so sorry.”

            “Just shut up!” Jack yelled.  “I don’t want your pity.  Irene told me she wanted to give herself up for River, and now you have your damn opportunity.  Let’s just keep her body fresh and get to the Library so we can bring River back.”


	7. Chapter 7

_After a small eternity, he realized that this place wasn’t the spaceless chasm he’d imagined.  It actually did have form—_ he _was the one who had been a shadow wandering dark streets.  Others had seen him pass by, a faceless, struggling blob, and ignored him as he was one of the millions of these identical forms.  One painful day, however, he broke the surface of his nonexistence and found himself panting on the ground._

_Actual ground.  There was an actual ground, actual grey pavement, and there were dim streetlamps and skyscrapers and buildings all around.  There was even litter on the streets._

_“River,” he moaned, curling onto his side.  His lungs were burning._

_His lungs._

_He suddenly sat up and patted himself down.  He seemed to be corporeal again, with arms, and hair and a nose again.  He’d never felt more realized in his life—or whatever this was._

_A body passed by him on the street, and as it did, he felt their questions invade his head._

Just woke up, did you?

            _“Er, it seems I did.  Where am I?”_

Hell if I know.  You’re a newbie, I can tell.  You haven’t learned to use your head yet.

            _He felt himself getting a headache already.  It was too much like Trenzalore to have these voices in his head.  If he focused, he could hear them from every part of the city._

No big deal if you’re confused.  People are waking up here every day.  Personally, I think it’s purgatory.  _The person crossed their arms, and he suddenly got the feeling that they were a female._ It didn’t always use to look like this.  I don’t remember when it changed, but it used to be a lot bigger.  A lot brighter, and less shapes.  But he thinks shapes give him more power and give us less.

            _“He?  Who’s he?” he asked, getting up off the ground._

The Master.  He runs the whole place, or at least he thinks he does.  He has a lot of trouble with the whole groupthought thing.  Thinks his thoughts are still private, the git.  _The woman rolled her eyes._ Oh, he just heard me.  Fabulous.  I could care less.  Not like he can hurt me here.

            “ _Could you take me to him?” he asked.  The Master, running this place???  He had to see for himself.  No wonder this place was so bleak._

No need.  Focus on the city, and you’ll find a map in someone’s head.  _She nodded at and he stood up and wheeled around, trying to find some mental purchase.  He closed his eyes and focused on the city around him, and he gasped at how many minds ran through his own.  Millions of thoughts and memories and emotions flooded his brain.  It felt like what a Time Lord’s mind had felt like, though it was dead to him now.  He remembered that he used to be one, but the different timelines that used to scurry through his brain had disappeared.  He couldn’t see time anymore._

_There—the directions, in some soul’s eye view of the city.  There was an enormous, gleaming black palace in the center of the city, with roiling smoke clouds circling its spires.  It was as good a place as any to start._

_He began to walk, pulling his newly-found memories behind him like a satchel, when the woman asked him,_ Hey, mate, I didn’t catch your name.

            _Concentrating very hard, he tried to send out his thoughts to her like a radio signal from one mind to the next._ Doctor.  I’m the Doctor.  Pleased to meet you.

 

* * * * *

            Clara still felt like she was moving through liquid, barely able to keep up with the speed of everything around her.  She tried to pay attention to Hamish’s rapid yelling and the person who answered him— _Jack!_ —as they ran into the sick bay.

            “Is there something you’re supposed to plug her into?” Jack asked.

            “I dunno.  We have stuff here to keep her from, er, decomposing, but Clara knows how the download works.  Clara?” Hamish questioned her hopefully.  She didn’t know how to answer.

            “She’s in shock,” Jack diagnosed.  “Well, that’s just brilliant.  How in the hell are we supposed to do this?”

            “Quickly.”  Hamish put his arms on her shoulders.  “Clara, sweetheart, you’ve got to focus.  What do we do to download River?”

            She blinked a few times.  “Erm, there’s….Hamish…”

            “No, Clara, you’ve got to focus, you’ve got to think.  We don’t have long.  Irene’s gone, Clara.  We can use her body.”

            She shook her head.  “Wrong.”

            “Shit, can she not use complete sentences?” Jack said angrily.  “Clara, snap out of it!  Irene wanted to give herself up for River.  Now we’re just doing this a little earlier than Irene had anticipated.  Is there a place we’re supposed to put her?”

            That shook her out of it a little.  She got off the cot and beckoned to the boys.  “Follow me.  There’s a chair.  Sexy helped me make it.”

            “Sexy???”

            “Leave it, Captain.”

            Hamish let Clara lead him down the hall and under a few corridors until they arrived at a room with a large, wired chair in it.  Jack got to work, laying Irene’s still form on the chair, and Clara could do nothing but stare at her.  Just a day ago, Irene had been vibrant, exuding confidence and a sense of humor, and now—she was just a small, frail body, with soot smudged all over her face and her hair out of its bun.  Her blue eyes looked ahead, completely vacant.

            Jack looked at her desperately.  “What do I do???”  
            “She was alive…just yesterday.  I tried to go in and save you,” Clara said absently.

            “She’s next to useless like this!  Hamish, can’t you do something?”

            “What can I do?” Hamish asked indignantly.  “She just walked straight into a fire to save you guys—cut her some slack!”

            “I’ll give her some slack, all right!”

            Hamish slapped Captain Jack across the face—a not exactly manly gesture, but it shut Jack up for the moment.  He considered slapping Clara for a minute, but that was definitely not going to happen.  Pacing around the room, inspiration struck him.  There _was_ something he could do to shock Clara into action, though it would definitely reveal his hand.

            He cleared his throat, braced himself, and put both hands a bit awkwardly around Clara’s stunned face.

            “Hamish, what are you—”

            He pressed his lips to hers, a little sloppily, and held them there for a good ten seconds.  Jack, flabbergasted in the corner, whistled.

            When he released her, he saw that Clara had frozen in place with eyes as big as saucers.  She swallowed and blinked a few times.  “Are you quite finished, Hamish?”

            He let go of her face.  “Er.  Yeah.  I guess I’m done.”

            “Good.”  A loud crack was heard and Jack winced on Hamish’s behalf when Clara smacked him across the face.  “Next time you do that, I’ll box your ears, you hear?”

            He rubbed his jaw and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

            “Fantastic,” she replied, spinning into action.  “All right, Jack, you need to connect that headpiece to her head—there are nodes in it that will connect to her frontal cortex, so don’t worry about plugging it in.  Junior, put those paddles on her chest, one on each side. We’ll need those so Sexy can restart the heart.”

            “How exactly does this work?” Jack asked.  “Is there any way we could revive Irene?”

            “Sorry, Captain, but her soul’s gone on.  This is just an empty shell, but if we download a mind into it and restart the heart, the shell isn’t empty anymore.  Now, flick the red switch and turn on the download mainframe.  You’ll need to monitor her while I get us to the Library.”

            Jack flicked the switch and the room hummed to life.  “So what’s the plan from there?”

            Clara inspected the heart monitor quickly before ducking underneath the hardware.  “We have to work fast.  You watch Irene while Junior and I go to the Library.  Now, the planet is infested with beastie creatures called the Vashta Nerada, who live in the shadows and attach themselves to humans.  Junior and I are going to run like mad to get to the computer before one skins us alive, if you please, and then we plug the Library computer into the TARDIS and River will download herself into the computer in here.  From there, we say a prayer and play Doctor Frankenstein,” she explained.  She typed a quick message to the Library system for River— _We’re coming.  Get ready._

            Jack nodded grimly.  “Will it work?”

            “No idea, haha!” Clara laughed.  “All right, Junior, with me.  I have an outfit that will bring out your eyes.”

            She dragged him out of the room while Jack wagged his head.  “She sounds more and more like her father every day.”

            A wardrobe next door had two garment bags hanging in it, with wires sticking out of them from every angle.  Clara immediately began to unzip the bag and pull out a blinding suit.  “Come on, then, Junior.  This is a little game I like to call ‘Barbecue Time Travelers.’ ”

            Hamish shielded his eyes.  The material looked like it was made of foil with sunlight bouncing off it.  “What the bloody hell is that?”

            “A sunlight suit.  The problem with the Library is the fact that we could be eaten by Vashta Nerada, and the only way to get eaten by them is to be in the shadows, where they are, or have them attach to you and give you more than one shadow.  These suits are Mum’s design,” she said fondly.  “She sent me blueprints from CAL.  They’ve been charging for ages, so when we step out of that TARDIS, we will literally burn brighter than a light in a marquee on West End.”

            “Won’t we go blind?”

            “Special visor, mate.  We’re fine.  There are even headsets so we can communicate.  It should scare the Vashta Nerada off for a good five minutes, until they realize we still have shadows.  That’s all right, since we only have five minutes in the suits before they boil us to a crispy chip.”

            Hamish gulped.  “Are you always this confident when you could die?”

            “Absolutely,” she said.  “Come on, put yours on, and I’ll drive.  We need to get to the computer of the ship and download River onto my timey-wimey flash drive and get back into the TARDIS before we’re either burned or eaten alive.”

            Hamish shrugged hopelessly and carefully put his suit on.  “Are you sure this is going to work?”

            “Nope.  Come on, Junior, five minutes, hurry up!” she exclaimed, zipping up her suit and putting the shields up on her visor.  Everything was tinted darkly, minimizing the damage to her eyes.  With a run to the console and a few quick coordinate changes, they flew to the Library and landed with a thunk.

            Clara looked apprehensively at Hamish before they opened the doors to the TARDIS.  “It might be a little scary out there, but remember, you’re brighter than they’re used to.  And you can’t see them—it’ll look just like a regular space library.”

            “I’m not scared!” he insisted.

            “Right.  Definitely not.  First alien encounter and you’re peachy.”

            “I’ve already saved your life once today—don’t make me regret it,” he joked.  “Let’s go.”

            She grinned widely at him and shoved the door open, revealing a dark and dusty library that seemed to go on for miles.  Before Hamish could marvel at it, she screamed, “GO!” over the headsets and they ran like mad down the hall, holding hands to keep from separating.  The light emanating off their suits bounced everywhere, illuminating the entire inner workings of the planet, and Hamish could have sworn that he heard hisses from where the shadows used to be.

            “The Vashta Nerada—can they die?” he asked as Clara turned them down a corner.

            “No.  But they can be aggravated.  This way!”

            “How do you even know where to go?”

            “Mum sent me a map!”

            “Couldn’t you have landed us right next to the computer!?!?”

            “I’m not a professional TARDIS driver, okay???”

            They flew down stairs and secret passageways, tripping over unshelved books and running from anything the slightest bit dark.  Hamish began to notice that despite their brightness, there was still a shadow running behind him, matching his movements.  “Clara—there’s a shadow—behind me!”

            “Yes, genius— _yours!_ ” she huffed, trying to keep up the pace.  “Stop—talking—I’m—running!”

            “You’re—the one—who’s talking!”

            “Shut up!” she said.  “We’re here!”  They arrived at a huge room covered with control panels, wires, and blinking screens.  In the middle of it all was a pillar with a fleshy ball on top, which Hamish soon realized with horror was a young girl’s face.

            He squeaked when the girl opened her eyes and sought Clara.  “You are the daughter of River Song.  I am CAL.  I have saved her file.”

            Clara didn’t waste time, plugging the flash drive into one of the ports and willing it to work.  “Come on, Mum,” she whispered.  “Come on, download!”

            The flash drive blinked and beeped while information began to pour into it, flickering quick streams of binary while Clara sighed in relief.  It was working—River had made it work and soon she’d be back to life.

            “Clara.”

            “Hush.”

            “ _Clara._ ”

            “Ugh, what is it, Junior?”

            “You have two shadows,” Hamish said fearfully. “Is that bad?”

            Clara slowly, with a growing sense of dread, turned around to look behind her as the flash drive chirped that the download was complete.  “Oh, no.  Oh, no, no, no, no.  Keep calm, keep calm…”

            “What does it mean?” he said.  “Is that the Vashta Nerada?  Why are you still alive?”

            “I don’t know,” she whispered.  “I don’t know.  Oh, Mum, what do I do, what do I do…?”

            Hamish glanced at his own shadow and breathed a sigh of relief to see he still only had one.  He strode forward and pocketed the flash drive.  “Okay, new plan,” he said, unzipping his suit.

            “What? No!” Clara crossed her arms indignantly to show her disapproval, though she was afraid to move her feet from the spot they’d been planted in.  “Whatever you do, keep that suit ON!”

            “There aren’t any beasties attached to mine, so you’re going to put on mine.”

            “No!  I refuse to let you risk your life like that—we’re going to make a run for it, let me just think…”

            “Clara, will you just take off the suit before I take it off myself?  I know I’d ruin it.”

            “Hamish, stop!” she said.  “I’m not letting you risk your life for me!”

            “Too bad, princess.  Stop being a baby, I _do_ have a plan.  Come on!”  Hamish shrugged out of his suit and helped Clara pull off hers, and gingerly he slipped his own suit onto her.  “You’re going to have to latch onto me like a monkey.  This suit doesn’t have anything attached to it, but I’ll be out in the open, so the light from your suit’s got to do for both of us.”

            “Are you crazy?  You’ll _fry_!”

            “Then we’ll have to hurry, won’t we?  You’re the only one who can drive the TARDIS, and you can’t die today or everything will be for nothing.”

            “Hamish,” she started, but he cut her off.

            “No, you listen to me, Clara Oswin Oswald.  I don’t want to hear you argue with me, _I’m_ the man on this TARDIS and you’re going to _listen_ to me!”  He zipped her up despite her protests and pressed a daring kiss to the top of her visor.  “Come on, darling, climb on.”

            With a huff, she jumped onto his back and wrapped her legs tightly around his middle, and he began to run, retracing the path they’d taken.  Things were no longer exact with only one suit between them, and their were more shadows that threatened to close in on them, but when Clara saw one hovering nearby, about to cast darkness onto Hamish’s exposed skin, she covered it with her suited arm.  “You’ve got to stop calling me ‘darling’.”

            “Why is that?” he panted.

            “Because I’m not your darling!”

            “Oh?” He chuckled under his breath.  “I think after carrying you back to the TARDIS and saving your life twice in one day, I’m entitled to call you whatever I want.”

            “You went the wrong way!” she said.  “LEFT!”

            “Sorry, sorry!”        

            “And for your information, you are not permitted to kiss me, Junior!  I’m 24 years old, and I am too old for you, and there is not a single way in this universe that I’d ever go out with you!”  
            “Is age the only thing keeping you from saying that?”

            “No!”

            “Then what else?”

            She bit her lip, thankful he couldn’t see her face from his position.  “You turn right here, Junior—no, no, other right!—and because, you idiot, we’ve only known each other for two days!  Or three!  Or however long it’s been!”

            “Romeo and Juliet, darling,” he argued.

            “You’re impossible!”

            “So are you!”

            “UGH!” she cried, slamming her head into his back.  She shifted to get better purchase on his back, which made him hiss and revealed a bevy of burns on his back that broke through his shirt.  “Hamish…”

            “Forget about them,” he said.  “We’re nearly there, and you can take the bloody suit off!”

            Clara breathed out a sigh of relief and counted down silently in her head until the blue box was in their sights, and Hamish sped to meet it.  Tumbling through the door with twin gasps, they hit the floor with a loud smack and groaned.  “Sorry, sorry!” she apologized, scrambling off his back and making her way to the console.  As she quickly stripped off the still-glowing suit with one hand, she used her other hand to take the TARDIS back to the Time Vortex.  “Get yourself to the sick bay and release the nanogens—they’re cells that heal skin, and they’ll fix your back.  I’m sorry about that.”

            “No problem.  The flash drive is in the front pocket,” he said before retreating to the sick bay.


	8. Chapter 8

_“This place is remarkable,” he said aloud, though he’d quickly learned that he didn’t have to.  Somehow, this world had form and space and characteristics, but it was also fluid.  He knew it was a new dimension of sorts, one with a communal psychic link across the board.  It stretched and moved, and depending on the will of its inhabitants, it could even change forms.  The map in his head showed a long trek to the middle palace, but as soon as he’d willed it, he was at its gates.  “Really remarkable,” he repeated._

_He’d expected some sort of difficulty getting through the gates, since he couldn’t find his sonic, but they opened immediately before him and revealed a long path to the palace inside.  There were jet-black fountains and dark, twisting lilies in convoluted flowerbeds, and each cobblestone down the path was embedded with glittering black jewels._

_The doors to the palace swung open without a fight, and he walked almost sheepishly inside.  It’s not like he could die again, but finding the Master in a place like this couldn’t be good.  Though, he had to admit, all black wasn’t the Master’s style.  Shouldn’t there be drums?  Shouldn’t this be a carbon-copy of Gallifrey, if the Master had managed to control this dimension?_

_The throne was in the very center of the room, with a lone inhabitant lounging on it.  He seemed almost bored._

_The Doctor thought he couldn’t be surprised at this point, but he was wrong.  He was wrong about everything._

_“Hello, honey,” the king said from the throne.  “You still look delicious.  I wondered when you’d get up here—I was lonely.”  He leapt off the ornate black throne and flashed him a toothy grin as he modeled the huge, terrifying headdress on his head._

_“You,” said the Doctor.  “I thought…”_

_“Yeah, it’s me.  Surprise!” James Moriarty replied.  “I always tell people they should see me in a crown.  You’re a lucky man, Doc—you get to see me in one now."_

* * * * * *

            Jack was immensely relieved to hear Clara’s footfalls.  “Oh, thank goodness.  I thought for sure you were toast.”

            “We were.  Well, Hamish is.  But we’re okay.  Come on,” she said.  “Is she ready to go?”

            Jack nodded.  “Yeah, everything’s warmed up and ready.  All it’ll take is a download, yeah?”

            “Yep.”  Before Clara put the flash drive into the machine, she stopped herself.  “Are you sure about this?  We don’t have to…I mean, I know I was insistent about this, but it doesn’t have to be her.  Or you.”

            “Irene wanted to do this.”

            “Did you get to say goodbye?”

            Jack gazed lovingly at Irene for the last time she would be purely herself and stroked back a smoky piece of hair.  “She was gone by the time I’d gotten back in.  She’d tried to keep the smoke out with towels under the door, but the assassins did a thorough job.  I bet they’ll think she’s really gone now, so River won’t be in any danger.”

            Clara frowned.  “I can leave you two alone if you want.”  
            “We were alone for a long time, Clara.  But at least we were alone together.  Go on and download her.  I’ll stay to see River off and then you can leave me somewhere.”  He leaned down and kissed Irene, smoothed her hair into place, and nodded to Clara.  “Go.  Do it, now.”

            Clara nodded back and turned to the machine, clicking a few buttons and sending the machine into a whirring frenzy.  “Come on, Sexy.  Work some magic,” she said, encouraging her blue box to put the power through.

            White shocks went through the nodes on the metal helmet, making Irene’s body quiver and shake.  Jack had to look away from her while she was racked against the chair, convulsing with electricity.  Even Clara didn’t look until it was over and steam poured out of the machine.  Clara checked the vitals and could barely believe her eyes.

            Jack’s eyes were fixed on the screens, blinking each time the monitors showed a slow if erratic heartbeat.  “Did it work?”

            “Mum?” asked Clara fearfully, turning to Irene’s body.  “River, are you in there?”  She shook Irene’s body gently by the shoulders and jumped when her eyes shot open.

            “Get.  This.  Bloody.  Thing.  _Off_ ,” the body insisted, looking extremely perturbed.  Clara squeaked and pulled off the helmet while Irene’s body shot up in the chair and shook out her limbs.  “Right then,” the body continued, “I’m—wait.”

She rubbed her long, ivory fingers all over her face, feeling unfamiliar cheekbones and a sleek nose.  She dragged her hands through her hair, pulling it in front of her eyes and noticing the slight curl it had to it, but the unfamiliar color of it disturbed her.  Her eyes searched the room around all the equipment until she found Clara.

            “Mum?” Clara asked quietly.

            Irene’s form still looked bewildered, but at Clara’s voice, she relaxed and smiled wickedly.  “Hello, sweetie.  Are you going to hug me, or are we just going to sit here awkwardly looking at me?”

            “Mum!!!” Clara squealed, throwing her arms around her.  “Mum, I can’t believe it worked!  I can’t believe it’s you!”

            “Oh, your ol’ mum’s never down for the count, not really!” she said, holding Clara tight.  “Who’s body am I in?  I’m really rather cross at you that you did this, but I am glad to be back.”

            “Irene Adler—she gave herself up for you,” Jack said a bit sourly from the other side of the room.

            “Jack!” she said gratefully.  “You’re here!  Oh, thank you, thank you for helping my daughter.  I knew you’d do it.”

            “It wasn’t really me.  Clara handled it all on her own.”  Jack shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot.  “I’m glad you’re back, River.  I hear you’re in for a long mission, and Clara’s going to need her mother.”

            “Thank you, Jack,” said River.  “I truly appreciate it more than you can say.”

            Jack nodded and left the room.  River took the opportunity to test out her new skin.  “Pearly.  I like it.  Dark hair, though.  Do you have a mirror?”

            “Erm, sure!”  Clara rummaged through the boxes underneath the machinery and pulled out a mirror for her.  “Here you go.”

            “Thank you, sweetie.”  She looked intently at her reflection, turning her face at every angle.  “Pretty.  Who was I?  Before I became me, I mean.”

            “Like I said, Irene Adler.  Professional dominatrix, famed genius and blackmail queen.”

            “Oh, I’ve heard about her.  Always wanted to try…well, I always wanted to meet her.  She didn’t…she didn’t die for me, did she?”

            Clara shook her head and said, “No.  She died in a fire, but she knew what she was getting into.  She wanted to give herself up for you, to help us.”

            “Sexy _and_ kindhearted.  I’m honored,” River replied.  “This feels so strange.  I didn’t know how used to my old body I was, or the Library.”

            “You’re telling me,” Clara laughed.  “This is so weird, talking to you like this.  I’m used to blonde curls and guns and everything.”

            “Well, hold that thought, I’m sure there’s a gun around here somewhere.”  She stretched her arms and continued to examine herself.  “I can definitely get used to this.  Oh, I am _so_ happy to see you, dear.  I missed you most, my little Lyra.”

            Clara wrinkled her nose in confusion.  “Didn’t you miss Dad the most?”

            “Oh, he’s a close second, but I’m a mum, now, sweetie.  You’re my first priority, even if I haven’t done a bang-up job of parenting you.”

            “Don’t say that,” Clara protested.  “It isn’t your fault.  What was it like, in the Library?  How did it feel?”

            “Honestly?  Not too different.  I still felt like I was in a body, because the computer made a special construct of a universe for me.  I got to live a domestic kind of life in there, when I wasn’t frantically looking for information on Netherspace, and there were even children.”

            “Children??”

            “Computer constructs, sweetie.  CAL—the computer—could tell I was still harboring a bit of guilt over the circumstances of your birth, so there were little children programs running around, a girl and a boy.  I was in charge of them.”

            “Oh,” Clara said.  She snuggled closer to River.  “What did you name them?”

            “The girl was Lyra, of course,” River replied.  “I pretended she was you.  And I called the boy Cass.”

            Clara tensed, an unwelcome flood of memories coming back from Trenzalore, and relaxed when River kissed the top of her head.  “I really did miss you,” River told her.  “I—wow, this voice is weird, it’s a lot higher more sultry, mine was always throatier—always looked forward to getting an email from you, telling me where you were.  When you said you were going to get help from Jack, I was really nervous, sweetie.  But hearing about this companion of yours…”

            “My what?”

            “Your companion, silly!  You mentioned, in a very fleeting email, I might add, that you’d found someone to travel with.  Not only someone, but the son of our dear Sherlock and John…”

            Clara couldn’t hide a blush.  “I hear that tone in your voice, Mum.  It’s the same no matter what body you’re in.  He’s just a friend, Mum!”

            “Your father said the same thing about me.”

            “He’s six years younger than me!”

            “Age is but a number.  And your father is hundreds of years older than me.”

            “ _Mum_.”

            “What???”

            “Does _everything_ relate back to the Doctor and your relationship in some way?”

            “Pretty much.  That’s what happens when your love spans over all of time and space.  You know, Antony and Cleopatra got it all from us.  And Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII.”

            Clara shook her head and squashed any suspicions.  “I don’t—can’t—like him that way.  But he’s a marvelous friend and I really appreciate his help so far.

            “I suppose that’s fair,” River agreed.  “Do I ever get to meet him?”

            “Oh, bloody hell!” Clara said, smacking her forehead with her palm.  “Hamish’s in the sick bay, with the—oh, Mum, we’ve got to go!  You have to meet him!  Are you okay to walk?”

            “Let’s see, shall we?”  River shooed Clara off her lap and tested her legs out.  “Oooh, she’s a skinny one.  Great curves, but skinny.  I’m going to have to practice standing my ground in this one.”

            “You’re acting like you get transferred to different bodies every day.”

            “All of time and space, sweetie.”  River straightened up and stretched, only just noticing that the only thing Irene had been wearing was a very thin silk robe.  “Wow.  Not that I object to these clothes, but perhaps I should slip into something a bit more…me, before I see your little friend?”

            Clara nodded down the hall.  “Second corridor, third door.  I kept all of your clothes, and Dad’s.  Wear what makes you comfortable.”

            “I always do.  Go check on your companion—you’re supposed to take care of them, _Doctor_.”

* * * * * * * *

            “Mish!” she exclaimed, running down to the sick bay.  “Mish, I’m really sorry, I totally forgot—Mum’s back, she made the trip, and I can’t wait for you to meet her!”  Clara was babbling, and she knew it, but she was trying to forget the conversation she’d just had with her mother.  “Mish!”

            “Ouch!”

            “Hamish, what’s wrong?” She stepped into the sick bay to find Hamish tipping over jars of q-tips, stretching to the top shelf to release the nanogens.  “Oh, Mish, that’s the wrong shelf!”

            “This is the shelf you just used,” he argued. 

Clara gasped at the burns she could see through his singed t-shirt.  “We used all the ones from that one.  There’s a second shelf, over here.”  She led him a few cabinets over and opened a drawer, releasing another cloud of glowing yellow nanogens that attached themselves to his burnt back.  He hissed when they made contact with his skin.  “Quick, you’ll need to take off your gross shirt before the nanogens fuse it to your back!”

Hamish pulled it off quickly, revealing criss-cross burns across his collarbones where her arms had been wrapped around him, and the nanogens swarmed to all the open wounds.  “Oh, that’s a blessed relief!” he said, trying to hide the fact that he’d been about to cry before Clara walked into the room.  Those burn were 2nd degree, at least.  “Wait, what did you call me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mish.  You called me Mish.”

She scoffed.  “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.  Twice, I think,” he said.  “Not ‘Junior’?”

“Yes, Junior.  Junior, Junior, Junior,” she said, making up for her earlier blunder.  “Look at that—all healed.  Thanks again for saving my arse.  I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been in the Library with me.”  Clara tried to make her gratitude sound purely platonic, but Hamish’s chest wasn’t burned anymore.  In fact, it was a rather nice color, and even though Hamish certainly wasn’t a body builder, he wasn’t _bad_ to look at.  “Er.  Anyway.  That was really brave of you, and I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he replied.  “So, your mum’s back?  Do I get to meet her?”

“As a matter of fact, you do, Mr. Watson-Holmes,” a voice said from the doorway.  River was standing there in a seductive pose, already working out the new body with a clean button down on and cargo pants stuffed into her old archaeologist boots.  “Pleased to meet you, Hamish.  Clara’s told me very little about you, but might I say, you are every bit as lovely as I’d imagined.”

“Er, thank you,” he said.  “I’m sorry, I usually…er…wear a shirt.  But there were nanogens and things, and Clara said—”

“Well, it’s not like any of us can blame Lyra for telling you to take your shirt off,” River smirked.  “For medical purposes, of course.  I’m River Song, as I’m sure you’ve been told.”

“Yeah.  Clara said you were the Sexiest Thing in the Universe.”

“Oh, did she?” River said, giving an appreciative look to her furiously blushing daughter.  “Well, my old body was really a knock-out, but it’s what’s on the inside that’s really sexy.  Though this one’s really got potential.”

Clara had to admit that as different as River’s old body was, there were new elements to Irene’s figure that seemed to come from River’s mind.  After all, to begin with, both women had light eyes and curly hair, which River had blown out with a hairdryer to look more like her own had.  As far as Clara knew, Irene had only ever worn her hair in a careful updo, and this look took the severity out of her cheekbones and gave her a more playful look.  But there was an element of confidence now, a twinkle in the eyes of Irene that came only from River.  Irene had always exuded confidence, but it was quiet and it snuck up on you.  River practically knocked you down with hers.

“River, you know Hamish’s parents, of course,” she said, clearing her throat.  “We’re going to pick them up after we drop off Jack, I think.”

“Sounds perfect.  It was wonderful to meet you, Hamish.  I look forward to working with you.  Lyra, dear, don’t worry about Jack.  I can take him where he wants and you can make sure your companion boyfriend finds a shirt.”

“I’ll go out and thank him,” Clara protested, taking Hamish by the hand.  “Come on, Mish—I mean, Junior.  Come on, Junior.  Let’s go.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Mish!” John hollered up the stairwell to his son’s room.  “Mish, get up, it’s time for school!”  When there was no reply, he walked halfway up the stairs and yelled, “You can’t just expect Uncle Mycroft’s car to take you every time you miss the bus!  Show some initiative!”

            Sherlock rolled his eyes over his morning cup of tea and scanned the newspaper for interesting leads.  “Triple homicide in Sussex, John.  Expect a call from Lestrade in an hour.”

            John sighed.  “We should probably get around to retiring at some point.”

            “Are you serious?”

            “Not in the least.  Tea?” asked John suspiciously when Sherlock handed him a cup.  “I always make tea in the mornings.”

            “I expected you’d need it,” Sherlock said.  “I’m no professional consulting detective—oh, wait, I _am_ —but I’d deduced that in about seven seconds you’re going to blow your top off.”

            “And why would I do that?”

            “Six…five…four…”

            “Oh, bugger off,” harrumphed John.  “One of these days, I’m going to move to a hobbit hole with Hamish, and you’ll never annoy me again.”

            “Three…two…”

            “Hamish.  Where’s Hamish?” John scanned the room and noticed for the first time that morning that the TARDIS that had previously been parked in their flat the night before had gone missing.

            “One…”

            “HAMISH!” John shouted, running back through the living room and up the stairs and Sherlock chuckled to himself.  He threw the bedroom door open to find the sheets upturned, some posters missing from the walls, and absolutely no Hamish Watson-Holmes to be found.  “Sherlock, call Lestrade!”

            “Oh, sit down and drink your tea, will you?  You’ve been married to a detective for two decades—figure out where he went!” Sherlock called after him.  “What kidnapper would take Hamish’s posters with him?”

            “You don’t mean to say,” John thundered, charging back down the stairs, “that _our son_ went gallivanting all over the universe with Clara _WITHOUT OUR PERMISSION?!?_ ”

            “I’m afraid that’s exactly what I mean to say, darling.  Don’t get your pants in a twist, John, she’ll keep him safe.  She’s not exactly the hooligan her father was,” Sherlock added under his breath, idly turning a newspaper page.

            “That’s besides the point!  She’s inexperienced, they’re off on a dangerous mission, and he could be anywhere in the universe right now and he didn’t even tell us where he was going and forgive me for thinking that we raised our son better than to leave clues behind!”

            “Stop worrying so much—you know Hamish.  He’ll be back, humbled and contrite, by the end of the night in that damned blue box, all in one piece.  Besides, we’ve found ourselves in a unique situation that we haven’t been in since before Hamish came home for the first time,” Sherlock said with a smirk.

            John looked at him blankly.  “What?”

            “Well, with a negligible possibility that our son will walk in on us…”

            “Sherlock!” John snapped.  “Our son is missing.  Let’s focus.”

            Sherlock frowned.  “Not good?”

            “Bit not good, Sherlock.  Shags are for fathers who actually care about their son’s whereabouts.”

            “Oh, I know where he is.  He sent me a text before he left.  Sorry, should I have mentioned that earlier?”

            “What?!?  Yes, you definitely should have mentioned that earlier!  Why didn’t you???”

            Sherlock shrugged.  “Bored.”

            John snatched the phone and looked at the text.  “ ‘Gone with Clara, going to Russia in 2015.  Tell Dad not to lose his pants.  HWH. ’ ” He dropped the phone on the table and sat next to Sherlock.  “I’m going to kill him.”

            “He’s nearly 18, dear.  Isn’t it time he went on an adventure?  You enlisted at his age.”

            “That is _completely different_.”

            “If anything, what you did was more dangerous.”

            “You’re just saying that because you’re the Fun Father who lets him blow up the bathroom and go with pretty girls into time machines.  Why do I have to be Grumbly Dad who makes him do his homework and eat his vegetables?”

            Sherlock shrugged.  “If you had a problem with our parenting styles, you could have told me 18 years ago.”

            Before John could protest, a familiar _vworp vworp vworp_ signaled the landing of the TARDIS back in its original spot, and he sprang out of his chair to pound on the door.  “Hamish Watson-Holmes, if you don’t come out of this time machine RIGHT NOW, I’m telling Clara that you wet the bed until you were 12—and—and—and you’re grounded!!!”

            The door opened to reveal a grinning Clara.  “Oh, Junior, the things I have learned about you,” she giggled.  “Hi, John.  I thought for sure I’d get us back to the night we left, but I got the hours wrong.  You can blame me for that.”

            “Oh, I’m going to, little lady.  What were you thinking, taking Hamish in the middle of the night?  You didn’t even _ask_ us!” John whined.

            “You would have said no.”

            “And you would have had to respect our wishes.  Hamish is our son, Clara, and you can’t just take him who knows where!”

            “Well,” Hamish said sheepishly, stepping out of the TARDIS with River behind him, “I’m actually a legal adult now, so I can go wherever I want.  Hi, Dads!”

            John’s mouth opened and closed a few times, relieved to see his son safe and surprised to see Irene in his living room.  Eventually he just closed his mouth and ran forward to enclose Hamish in a back-breaking hug.  “You had me so worried, Mish!” he whispered.  “Don’t ever do that again.  And we missed your birthday?  How long were you gone?”

            “Just two days.  Amazing adventure, Dad—Russia, the Library, spacesuits, alien tech.  It was brilliant.  I missed you, though.”

            John leaned up on his toes to kiss Hamish on the head, meriting a blush from him.  “I’m just glad you’re back.  And what are you going to say to your father?”

            Hamish bit his lip.  “Hi, Father.  Sorry about that.”

            “As you well should be.  I woke up this morning and had no one to confer over this crossword puzzle with,” Sherlock said.  He pushed a mug of tea over the table and beckoned him over.  “Six-letter word for an Asian weapon.  I was thinking ‘katana,’ but it doesn’t work with the other words…”

            “Did you try ‘nodachi’?” Hamish grabbed Clara by the hand and took her to the table, and she immediately tried to protest.

            “Maybe we should leave.  Your dads probably want some time alone with you to celebrate your birthday.”

            “Nonsense!” John said.  “I’ll run to Tesco and pick up a birthday cake now, and we’ll have it with breakfast.”  He nodded to Irene.  “Wonderful to see you, Miss Adler.  Though, if I do remember correctly, you were dispatched somewhere in the Middle East…”

            River flashed him a winning smile.  “Well, hello, sweetie.  You certainly aged well, didn’t you?”

            “River???” John said after a double-take.  “River, how can that be—what in the—Clara, you switched her into _Irene Adler’s body_???”

            “Can’t say I don’t appreciate it,” Sherlock added.

            “Sherlock, you fox.”  River sauntered over and slid into a chair next to Clara.  “Do we have a story for you, old boy.  Come on, then, it’s the first time in forever that I’ve had real limbs—let’s all run to Tesco and dear Mish can pick out his cake, and then we can eat.  I’m absolutely starved, you know.”

            Sherlock got up and grabbed his coat and scarf and everyone followed him out of 221B.  As the time traveling trio laughed and talked behind them, Sherlock slid his hand into John’s and squeezed it.  “He’s home, darling.  Loosen up.  We’re about to go on another adventure for the first time in ten years.”

            John squeezed back and smiled a little.  “Yeah, all right.  Looks like Clara and Mish are well tied up, doesn’t it?”

            “Of course they aren’t.  She’s walking a yard ahead of him with River, clearly using her as an excuse to stay away from him, and her left hand has stayed in her coat pocket for the last two minutes—the same hand he grabbed in the kitchen.  Either trying to forget that he held her hand or dissuade him from trying again, probably the former because when she looks at him she looks down at his lips for a millisecond before meeting his eyes again.”

            “Brilliant.  What does that mean?”

            “Oh, he kissed her, definitely.  She’s trying to stop his advances.”

            John looked a bit defensive.  “And why?  Hamish is an excellent bloke.  Any girl or boy would be lucky to go out with him.”

            “Don’t be absurd, John.  They’ll be a couple by the end of the day.  Or maybe in five years.  I’m working on several leads right now…”

* * * * * * *

            _“Moriarty,” the Doctor said.  “After the ashes, on the starship—you came here.”_

_“Elementary, my dear Doctor.  Sorry you didn’t do a thorough job of killing me last time.  Seems like you never do a bang-up job of that.”  Jim tossed some imaginary hair over his shoulder and fingered the obsidian on his crown.  “Stylish, no?”_

_“You said you’d been expecting me.”_

_“Of course.  After that little time travel mishap you had, I knew there’d be a copy of you here.”_

_“What are you talking about, a copy?” the Doctor asked.  When Jim looked up and refused to respond, he tried to talk the way he used to, when there were monsters who needed extra convincing.  “Come on, Jimmy.  We’re both as dead as you can get.  There’s no point in keeping things from me, and even if you try, I’ll just search through the minds here until I figure it out.”_

_“Oh, yeah, the mind thing.  Annoying trifle,” Jim complained.  “This is Netherspace, the place where things go when they don’t exist anymore.   Example time: all those times you went back in time and changed your timeline, the version of you from the original ceased to exist, making a copy here.  These copies wander all over Netherspace as the lovely shadows you see all over town.  Once their owner dies, they gain consciousness here.  So, in essence, love…” He slowly began to smile wickedly.  “Welcome to hell.”_

_“Does that make you the Devil?”_

_“Oh, you don’t really believe in pesky human things like religion, do you?”_

_“As a matter of fact,” the Doctor said, “I’m smart enough to believe in them.  I’ve seen the Devil himself, actually, and I’d never confuse you two.  The way I see it, with its dimensional constructs, this isn’t an afterlife—it’s a pocket universe.”_

_Moriarty mock-clapped.  “Do go on.”_

_“Oh, I think I will.  See, I’m actually really clever, Jim, so I’ll explain it to you.  Matter can’t be created or destroyed, as you know, so the energy from those timelines manifested here, where I’m still alive and so are you.  We can’t properly die until this energy is destroyed, so this is a holding pen for our souls, for all the souls here.”_

_“Oh, joy.  I’ll have to go out and die AGAIN.  And I hated the last two times.”_

_“That isn’t likely, Jimbo.  Mind if I call you Jimbo?  I remember wanting to, back when I was all alive and things, but I hated you too much for what you’d done to give you a nickname then.”_

_Jim rolled his eyes.  “The point, Doctor.”_

_“If this is a pocket universe for all the missing souls, it shouldn’t look like hell, but it does.  I also know that this world builds itself on the power of thoughts and perceptions.  And guess what, Jimbo?  I think it’s safe to assume that this world isn’t actually evil.  In fact, it could be absolutely brilliant, a really wonderful place full of light and knowledge, and you could make anything in the universe appear simply by thinking it.  You could access all the knowledge of the universe and explore dimensions unknown.  So, the question is, why can’t it be that way?” The Doctor stared squarely at Moriarty.  “I think we both know why.”_

_He faked a yawn.  “Does it need explaining?  Oh, fiiine.  All these little minds were so boring, and mine is still so very, very big, so I’ve made Netherspace my dark little playground.  It’s not much, but it’s home, and all that.”_

_“All these people, all this potential, and you make them bow down to you and call you their Master,” the Doctor said in disgust.  “How do you do it, if they can read your mind and know you’re just a man?  How can your thoughts control the entire dimension?”_

_“The power of the mind, especially a brilliant one, is a magnificent thing,” Moriarty snapped.  “Enough talk.  I’m tired and my brain hurts from how annoying you are.  What happens now, dear?”_

_The Doctor was about to respond with a biting retort, but the words died in his throat.  “I don’t know,” he said quietly.  “I suppose I use my even cooler mind to fight yours and make this world better.  It’s what I usually do.”_

_“Oh, that’s adorable,” Jim said.  “Aren’t you forgetting something, Doctor?  I haven’t, you know.  I’ve been searching all the thoughts you have.”_

_He blinked, trying to keep a good poker face.  All of his memories…Moriarty had seen them all, now.  Everyone could see them, from here.  He suddenly felt very, very vulnerable, and very scared.  “Lots of carnage, I suppose.”_

_“And the secrets, Doctor.  They’re positively delicious.  I had no idea you were capable of such evil, dear.  I wish I’d gotten the chance to team up with you, love—but no, that’s not what I was looking for.  Actually, I was looking at the last few memories of yours.  According to what I’m looking at, you went to Sherlock and Johnny-boy’s wedding before popping off to Trenzalore…”_

_“What of it?”_

_“Something your precious, naughty River said to you.  Something promising.  Something I definitely wouldn’t put past her.”  Jim tossed his scepter up in the air and caught it in the same fist.  “Doctor, how would you like to make a deal?”_

 

            River groaned and put her hands on her belly.  “I feel like I ate that entire cake.  John, exactly how much did you let me eat?”

            John glanced at the remaining crumbs and tried to remember.  “I think about half.  You’ve been sort of…dead.  I figured you could do with some real food.  Besides, it’s not like Sherlock was going to eat it.”

            “I could have!” Sherlock protested.

            “You didn’t, darling, that’s the point.  Anyway, Mish, happy birthday,” John repeated for the millionth time.  “I don’t suppose any gift we could get you would match getting your first real girlfriend for your birthday this year.”

            Clara blushed furiously.  “You’re really very kind, John, but I’ve said a million times—Junior and I are just friends.”

            Hamish gloomily looked at his empty plate and didn’t respond.

            “Of course,” John amended.  He cleared his throat and got up from the table.  “We do have a present for you, of course.  Your father argued against the car—”

            “ _What????_ ”

            “Owning a car in London is illogical, Hamish.  The cost of parking and gas alone exceeds cab fares and Tube rides, so you might as well just do as you always do,” Sherlock said.

            “I can’t believe this,” Hamish moaned into his hands.  “My own father!”

            “Stop your whining, ungrateful git!” Clara said playfully.  “Come on, then, what’d you get him?”

            “Well, if he’d just be patient,” John replied, “he’d hear that Uncle Mycroft already bought him a bullet-proof sports car, though I don’t know how or why that man did it, and he sends his love.  We can expect it by Christmas.”

            Hamish turned to Clara and gave her a pleading look.  “Clara, I’m begging you—TARDIS.  Now.  Christmas.  Let’s go.”

            “Don’t even think about it,” John warned him.  “Your father and I wanted to get you some things you’d really use, so first of all, open this one.”  He handed Hamish a small parcel wrapped in bright blue paper.  “Your Aunt Molly wrapped it for us, since we’re so hopeless.”

            Hamish smiled and opened it tentatively, revealing an old velvet box.  After a few moments of trouble with the latch, he opened the box and stared at the beautiful silver watch inside.  “Dad…Father…this is brilliant.  It’s all old-fashioned and stuff!”

            Sherlock sniffed at the less-than-erudite description but was pleased that Hamish seemed to genuinely like it.  With Clara’s help, Hamish put it on while Sherlock explained, “It was my grandfather’s, and my father’s, and Mycroft even had it for about five years before I nicked it.  I wore it around when you were just a tyke, but your dad and I decided we wanted to pass it down to you when you went off to uni, so I put it in safe-keeping before you could recognize it.  By the way, the safe now holds your inheritance money, which we’ve bee scrapping together for the last decade.  Try not to spend it all in one place on the off-chance that your old dad and I decide to pop off one day.”

            Hamish admired the handsome watch on his right wrist.  “It’s perfect.  I absolutely love it, thank you!”

            “It’ll be helpful on any time-travel missions you find yourself on,” John said slyly.  “That way, you’ll know what time it is back home, with us.”  
            “Does that mean…you’re letting me go with Clara?  I mean, if she wants me to go with her?”

            “It’s not like there’s any way we can stop you.”

            He grinned widely and threw his arms around John and then Sherlock.  “You’re the best parents in the world, you know that?  All right, Clara, what do you say?  Can I travel with you?”

            Clara laughed and nodded her head.  “I couldn’t ask for a better first mate, Junior.  Welcome aboard.”

            Hamish pumped his fist into the air in triumph while Sherlock reached into his pocket and got out a thick, official-looking envelope.  “Present part two, dear—and we had to pull quite a few strings to get this so early.”

            He took it confusedly and his eyes widened in terror when he saw the sender’s address.  “Oxford.  Is this…?”

            “Your decision letter.  They usually don’t release them until spring, but they owed us a favor, so here’s your early decision.  Go on,” Sherlock said with a smile, “open it.”

            Hamish noticed that his hands were shaking.  “Father, I don’t think I can.  This is _Oxford_ we’re talking about.  I—I just applied on a whim, really.  There’s no way I could ever get in.”

            Clara stood up and took his hand.  “You can do it, Mish.  Open it up, let’s see.”

            He really wasn’t sure he could do it, with an entire new future in his hands, but Clara took the envelope from him and started ripping a corner.  “Oi!  Together, all right?”  They each took one end and carefully pulled the letter out of the envelope.  “ ‘Dear Mr. Watson-Holmes,’ ” he read, “ ‘We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to University of Oxford’s Fall Semester, 2032’—I think I’m going to faint.”

            “He got in!  He got in, he got in, he got in!!!!” Clara sang, jumping up and down.  “I knew it!”  
            “I didn’t!” Hamish looked with sunken eyes at Sherlock.  “What if the letter had said no?  This would have been a really bad birthday.”

            “I had a hunch.  Trust me, I’m a detective.”

            “I’m not even the top of my class,” Hamish argued.

            “True,” Sherlock said, “but you’re also a brilliant chemist who’s won several national competitions, and your entrance essay was spectacular.  Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mish, just celebrate.”

            A slow smile crept onto Hamish’s face.  “ I got in,” he breathed.  “I can’t believe it.  I got in!  But what about traveling with Clara?”

            “You’ll have all summer for that,” John said encouragingly.  “As long as she drops you off in time.”

            “Brilliant,” Hamish replied.  “All right, Dad, Father, Clara, and River—I have a birthday request, if I may.”

            “The answer’s no,” River sighed.  “Sorry, love, but I’m too old for you.  Lyra isn’t, though.”

            “ _MUM!_ ”

            “No, thank you, River,” Hamish said.  “For my birthday, I would really like…to save the Doctor today.  If that’s all right with you.”

            John and Sherlock froze, with Sherlock looking a bit more intrigued than his better half.  River and Clara looked hopeful but bit their lips, trying not to encourage anything.

            “Clara really needs your help, Dads, and what’s more, from what I’ve heard and what I remember, the Doctor really needs your help, too.  Clara’s told me the basic gist of the plan, and since you have versions of yourselves in Netherspace, you can go there with her and retrieve him.  She already has the machinery, River has the directions and can drive the TARDIS while you go, and I can stay with you until you come back from Netherspace.  I’ll be your techie,” he said proudly.  “The whole operation won’t take long.  What do you say?  One more rescue mission, old gents?”

            John looked like he was about to say no, but when he caught view of Sherlock’s face, he sighed in defeat.  “Of course we’ll go.”

            Sherlock looked up at him in confusion.  “What, just like that?  No ‘You’ll die in there’ or ‘Hamish won’t be safe’ or something equally absurd?”

            “Nope.  You should have seen your face, Sherlock.  You want this too much, and I’d never let you go anywhere alone.  I’m always going to follow you, love,” John said.

            Sherlock looked so surprised and happy that he grabbed John by the shoulders and kissed him soundly, eliciting an annoyed groan from Hamish and a purr from River.  “Oh, I could watch this all day.  Forget the telly, this is where it’s at,” she said.

* * * * * * *

_The Doctor stared straight into Moriarty’s eyes, which seemed as dark and dead as ever.  “Something River said to me?”_

_“Oh, don’t fake being oblivious.  It’s never been a good color on you.  The night of that blasted wedding, you met with a future version of River, it’s written all over your brain,” Moriarty drawled.  He trailed a finger over the peaks of the crown._

_The Doctor caught on, getting a few of the tail ends of Moriarty’s train of thought.  “She said she was trying to save me.”_

_“And if there’s one thing I can bank on, it’s that damned woman’s tenacity when it comes to you.  River Song will try and save you from this place, and she’ll make sure she has dear Sherlock’s help, and—oh, I see, that_ is _interesting!  Little Clara was your daughter?  Brilliant, oooh, very fun.  You think they’ll be here with River to come and take you home.  Well, I’m afraid I’m going to be rather cross if that happens.”_

_“What are you going to do?” asked the Doctor with a sarcastic edge.  “Kill me?  Kill them?”_

_“No, no, don’t be obvious,” Moriarty said, and he broadcast his next thought as a scream in his head that made the Doctor wince._ I’m not letting you leave unless you take me with you.

            _“That’s impossible.  I don’t even know how.  I don’t even know if they’re actually coming!”_

They are.  Like they’d ever leave their precious Doctor to waste away under my rule.

            _“It’s not like you can control me,” the Doctor seethed.  “The best you can do is make fake prisons, and I can easily break them with my own mind.  There’s no point.”_

I’m not threatening you, _Moriarty thought back intensely._

_The Doctor decided then and there that no matter what happened, no matter how long he was stuck in Netherspace, he would never use his own mind to project his thoughts instead of words.  Let Moriarty pick apart all the thoughts that clung to him—he was going to communicate through words, as he always had.  “Then what’s the point?  How can you possibly threaten me?”_

_Moriarty let a slow smile curl onto the edges of his mouth, hanging there like rotten fruit._ If you leave me here, I’m stuck in this world forever, and this becomes my eternal playground.  No one here will ever see a single drop of sunlight or joy again, just like I’m the Wicked Witch of Munchkinland.  So, what’s it going to be, my pretty?

* * * * * * *

            “It’s great to be back, I won’t lie,” John breathed when he stepped back onto the TARDIS for the first time in years.  “Didn’t I tell you, Sherlock, how much I’d missed this daft old machine?”

            The TARDIS beeped and chirped happily to see John again.

            “Only every other day,” Sherlock replied, walking straight to the console and re-memorizing the board.  He’d long deleted it from his mind palace when it became clear that the Doctor wasn’t coming back.  “All right, then, let’s get the plan underway.  The Doctor shouldn’t have to wait any longer.  You have the machinery, Clara?”

            “Er, yes.  Shall we get to the kitchen?  I’ll make Crème à la Junior and we’ll discuss the plan.”

            “Crème à la Junior?” Sherlock asked.

            Hamish rolled his eyes.  “What Dad made for me when I was scared—it’s just milk and marshmallows.  I made some for Clara the first night we were in the TARDIS.”

            River raised an eyebrow.  “Oh, is that _all_ you did?”

            “Mum, stop!” Clara whined.  “File in, everyone!”

            The group took their places inside the spacious, mod-style kitchen, and Clara got to work at the stainless steel stovetop.  Pouring milk into a pot, she got it to a boil and added mini-marshmallows by the dozen.

            “Oi!” Hamish said.  “You’re supposed to microwave it, not use an official-looking stovetop!”

            “I have perfected the recipe,” she argued.

            John snorted.  “You’re an old married couple already.”

            “We’re going to stop with the jokes now,” Clara said.  “All right, this is warming up.  Sherlock, John—you have shadows in Netherspace.  Would you be so kind as to accompany me to another dimension to rescue my father?”

            “We already said yes, Clara, please do us a favor and move on to the fun part.  I’d love to hear about the tech involved,” Sherlock said.

            “I can show it to you later—the important thing is that we understand the plan,” Clara said.  “Basically, River will take the TARDIS into the Untempered Schism, where all of time and space is churning in a swirling vortex.  She’ll be able to locate the entrance to Netherspace there and park as close as we can, which will help us get there faster.  The TARDIS will put us under, as close as we can possibly be without being brain-dead, and because we’ll be so close to Netherspace, we should be able to get in without being dead.”

            “What’s my job?” asked Hamish indignantly, mixing the milk on the stovetop.

            “You’re on corpse-watch, of course,” Clara said.  “Problem?”

            “Er, not really.”  He shrugged.  “I guess I get to watch you, then.”

            “That’s vaguely stalker-ish, don’t you think?”

            “Well, given the choice of a stalker, wouldn’t you pick me, Clara?”

            “All right, children,” River interrupted.  “I’m going to show Sherlock and John the sleep system.  Sherlock’s a sucker for machinery.”

            “Oh, that’s all ri—”

            “No, Clara, don’t worry about it,” John agreed, ushering Sherlock out of the kitchen and filling two mugs to take with them.  “River, do you want some?”

            “After all that cake?  No, thank you.”

            The adults left the kitchen chatting among themselves, leaving the young ones behind over the simmering pan of milk.  Clara purposefully turned away from Hamish and tried not to look at him.

            “Clara.”

            She didn’t reply.

            “Clara, I want to talk about something before we…before I’m on corpse-watch and you’re in an alternate universe or whatever.”

            She bit her lip.  “It’s another dimension, actually.”

            “You know what I mean,” Hamish said, and when Clara turned to face him she found him a little too close.  It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable—in fact, seeing him up close, she could actually tell that his eyes were a light green, the color of celery or new leaves. 

            “Mish…” she began.  “I don’t…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

            “Why?  You could die in there.”

            “Nah, that’s not really possible,” she said.  “All right, then, spit it out.”

            Hamish shook his head.  Apparently, whatever it was, he didn’t want to just ‘spit it out.’  He picked up a mug for her and scooped milk into it.  “Come on, let’s go see how Sexy’s doing.”

            Clara followed him, a little flabbergasted, but felt more at ease when the pair made their way back to the console room and circled around it.  She drank from the mug Hamish gave her and did a few manual checks.

            “Clara,” Hamish said after some silent minutes, “I think I want you to know, before we do this, that I happen to be madly in love with you.”

            She snorted; she couldn’t help it.  “You’re not.”

            “Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

            “Don’t be silly, Junior.  You’re not in love with me.  You’re just excited by this adventure and everything, and you think it’s love.”

            Hamish shook his head and made his way around the console until he was close to Clara again.  “You have a problem with it because I’m younger than you.  That’s it.”

            Clara sighed and jumped onto the edge of the console, kicking her feet back and forth, over and over.  “I don’t think you get it, Mish.”

            “What is there to get?”

            “That’s it’s a lie,” she said.  “It’s all a lie.  The whole epic love story thing, where the boy and the girl keep saving each other from dying and clasp each other in a passionate embrace and—people don’t _do_ things like that, not when they’re in love, and I don’t know what you expect from me.”

            He considered that for a long moment, looking around the ceiling of the TARDIS.  For once, everything was quiet.  There weren’t people running about, screaming for help or calling for directions.  There were only the thudding heartbeats of two young people on the brink of something very scary.  “I don’t think you’re right,” he finally conceded.  “Your mum and dad have an epic love story.”

            “And look how it turned out for them.”

            “They’re fighting for each other,” he said.  “Isn’t that the point?”

            Clara didn’t answer; she only shook her head.  Hamish took the opportunity to reach for her tiny hand and fold it between his own.  “You know, whether or not epic love stories are real, that’s not what I want, not for us.”

            “And what do you want?” she asked quietly.  Gently she squeezed his hand to egg him on.  “For us, Hamish Watson-Holmes, what do you want?”

            “Well, Clara Oswald, I think that all I want from you is a completely ordinary love story.”

            The corner of her mouth twitched up in a wry smile.  “Explain, Junior.”

            “I want the kind of ordinary love story,” he said, “where I wake up and find your hair in the sink and your toothbrush next to mine, where you make peanut butter cookies when you forget I’m allergic to peanut butter, and where you complain that I snore.  Where I buy the stamps and the milk and you buy the socks.  Where you ask me if you look fat in those jeans and I debate on whether or not I have to lie to you, and you tell me I should lay off the cupcakes.  Where I stay up until 3 working with my chemistry set and I have to clean up your messes before I go to bed or I’ll trip on them in the morning and where I write you notes on the inside covers of your favorite books so every day, when you open them to read them for the thousandth time, you are reminded that I love you in a completely ordinary, everyday kind of way.”

            Clara didn’t say anything for a long time.  She only put her head experimentally on Hamish’s shoulder and let out a deep, relaxed sigh.  “Oh, don’t be silly, Mish,” she said.  “I’d never forget that you’re allergic to peanut butter.”

            “Ah, of course.”  He put his arm around her and released the tension in his back when she didn’t push it off.  “Would you be amenable to that, Miss Oswald?”

            “I want to say yes.  I do,” she insisted.  “It’s just that…erm, I don’t know how to get past the whole six-year-age-difference thing.”

            “Right.  It’s not like your mum isn’t decades younger than your dad.”

            “They’re Time People.  It’s different.  You’re actually 18,” she sighed.  “And I don’t know how to make this work.”

            Hamish felt his entire body whining in protest, his cells actually screaming at Clara to figure something out.  “Can’t we—”

            “OI!” River’s voice called from the back corridor.  “Time to switch positions, kiddies!  Oooh, I do love this voice, it’s got serious potential.  I hope my sweetie will like it…”

            Clara chuckled and shook her head.  “That’s my cue, Junior.”  When she got off the console edge to leave and noticed Hamish’s crestfallen face, she leaned up and kissed him gently on the cheek.  “To be continued?”

            He nodded.  “Let’s go.”


	10. Chapter 10

“All right, gents,” Clara announced, helping John into one of the machines, “River’s at the helm, and in minutes she’ll get us to the portal in the Schism.  Dearest Mish is going to be keeping watch.  Mish, the controls over there will monitor our vital signs and everything, so keep an eye on cardiovascular functions and brain waves.  If one of us goes into shock or cardiac arrest, you’ve got to pull us back.  Sexy will help us.”

            “Aye, aye, Captain!” Hamish said from his seat by the controls.

            Clara buckled John into his seat and fitted the helmet and breathing mask around his face.  “This is going to pinch a bit,” she apologized before sliding a needle into the crease of his forearm.  John didn’t even wince.  “You’ll be under in about thirty seconds, but when you get there, wait for us.  We’ll look for him together.”

            “You’re the boss,” John said through the breathing mask.  His eyelids began to flutter, but he still managed to tell her under his breath, “Clara, you have to keep Sherlock safe in here.  Whatever happens, you have to make sure he gets out of here alive.”

            “I’m going to,” she reassured him.  
            “Promise me.  And Hamish too.  Both of my boys, Clara—I’m putting them in yours hands.  Don’t disappoint me.”

            “I wouldn’t dare.”  She worked on Sherlock next, who didn’t fuss as she adjusted his helmet and added the IV with the sedative.  “You’re awfully chipper.”

            “New dimensions, daring rescues…oh, it’s Christmas.”

            “Any requests?  John made a bundle.”

            “No, that’s quite all right,” Sherlock replied.  “I know you intend to keep us safe.  I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

            Clara nodded as the two men went under and the monitors beeped with their vital signs.  “All right, Mish.  Help me with mine?”

            “Your wish, my command,” he said as she lowered herself into her seat.  “These are safe, right?”

            “Of course.  In theory.”  She attached the helmet to her head.  “Get that needle—you’re going to need to find a vein.”

            He blanched.  “You mean, blood?  Er, I’m not really a doctor type, Clara.  I might actually throw up.”

            Clara sighed and rolled her eyes.  “You’re virtually useless.”

            “Nah,” he said.  “I’m really cute.  I have that on my side.”  He offered her the needle apologetically.  “Please?”

            She grumbled and stuck herself with the needle, cringing when it got under her skin.  “I’m scared.”

            “You’re going to be fine,” Hamish reassured her.  “It’s just a quick dimension jump, and you’re brilliant—you’ll be great.  And you’ll bring the Doctor back.”  He nodded to the Doctor, who was attached to a machine of his own, waiting for his mind to return.

            She smiled faintly and felt herself going under.  “Look after them, and Mum.  And me, too.”

            “Oh, you know I’ll take good care of you,” he said, kissing her softly on the forehead.  “To be continued.”

            “To be continued,” she said, and then she was gone.

* * * * * * *

            _Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no, she was drowning._

_This was drowning, right?  She’d made a huge mistake.  Where were John and Sherlock?  She’d killed them, she’d drowned them too—where were they?_

_Air was ripping away from her in every direction, tugging at her hair and clawing her limbs away until she felt herself getting swirled down a drain, and she knew this was death, or eternal torture, and she prayed that this was NOT what she’d condemned her father to._

_She tried to scream for Hamish to pull her back and end it, but her voice box had been torn from her throat long ago.  So why could she hear screaming?  It was everywhere, pounding in what was left of her ears._

_Somehow she’d been caught in a cosmic windstorm, on the precipice of death, and if she didn’t get out, she would never even be granted the mercy of death.  So she willed herself to grab onto something, anything—a white-hot star, a meteor, or even the TARDIS._

_As soon as she willed it, there was a handle.  Cold, iron, and solid, it was there for her to grab onto and hold.  She clung to it and tried to pry it open, desperate to get behind wherever the handle was, and suddenly a sucking sensation shoved her out of the windstorm and into the smallest of holes until she was pushed, gasping for breath, on the other side._

            _“Sherlock!” she yelled into the void, and immediately felt a splitting headache.  Everything about this place, wherever she was, felt wrong.  Blood was beating at her eyeballs and making it hard to see.  “Sherlock, John!  Where are you?”_

_“Clara!” she heard from across the space, and she dragged herself along to the source of the voices.  Thank goodness they sounded recognizable._

_“Boys!  That you?”_

_“Yeah, we’re fine,” John’s voice called.  “Bloody HELL, that HURT!  Do you suppose we made it?”_

_“Don’t be absurd, John, of course we made it.”  Sherlock sounded gruff with the pain they’d all endured.  “This headache, however, is not going to make gathering data any easier.”_

_“Close your eyes, it makes it easier,” Clara advised them.  “This is weird.  I feel like I have a body, but whenever I try and look at it, it’s all warped.  Like a computer that’s glitching, over and over.”_

_“If we’re in Netherspace, it would make sense.  We’re essentially computer glitches.  We have a saved file here from the deleted timeline, but since we have bodies, we’re not fully here.  But it will be suitable to function.  I think—” Sherlock began, but then he gasped and stopped talking.  John reached out for his husband, still a bit blind from the trip.  “I think—oh.  Oh.  That is fascinating.  THIS is fascinating.”_

_“What is?”_

_“LISTEN!  John, listen!”_

_Clara and John stayed silent._

_Sherlock opened his eyes and gasped again at the world around them.  “This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen, or heard, or felt…”_

_“Sorry, what exactly are you talking about?” John asked, concerned that Sherlock had lost it on the way in._

_“The voices, the data, John—it’s all in here, in my head!  It’s what moves the city!  Can’t you see?” he said manically.  “Look!  Look around!  No, don’t look—just think!  Let it sit in your brain for a bit.”_

_“Er, all right,” John said.  He let the silence roll around in his brain for a bit until he heard Clara gasp as well.  “Oh, not you, too!”_

_“I’m getting it—parts of it, at least.  It’s really quiet.”_

_Before John could feel embarrassed that whatever they had just discovered hadn’t made an appearance in his brain, a small surge of power, like a spurt of water shooting through a rock, began to trickle through his brain.  “Oh—whoa.  There are all these voices.  Sherlock, what are they saying?”_

_“Everything.  Every word ever spoken in all of history,” Sherlock replied rapturously.  “It’s the world’s biggest encyclopedia, John!  Netherspace isn’t just a higher dimension—it’s a new plane of thought entirely.  Everyone’s thoughts who have ever been here or ever will be just exist, and you can tap into them whenever you want!”_

_“Can you search for the Doctor?” Clara asked.  “Is he anywhere on the network?”_

_“Hold on… I’m working out the kinks, here.  New brain, new processes.”_

_As Sherlock concentrated and the information in John’s brain began to grow and take shape, things became clearer.  The information was becoming a channel that constantly streamed through his mind, and he could pick and choose when to shut it out or listen to it.  And they weren’t in a painful, spaceless void anymore.  Things were beginning to form and take shape.  There were buildings and shadows and soon he saw even street signs, but everything had the distinct feeling of always moving and changing.  Like everything was being stretched._

_John wondered aloud.  “Why is everything here so dark?”_

_“Netherspace seems to take on the qualities of the pack mind, or at least the strongest mind,” Sherlock explained, filtering through information.  “Oh, John, now you’re thinking too loud.  I can hear it—shut it.”_

_“Oh, great, now he actually has a reason to yell at me when I’m thinking,” John joked with Clara, and then he settled into the stream in his mind.  If Netherspace was so dark, according to Sherlock, someone with a powerful mind wanted it to be dark.  John couldn’t help but wonder who, so he tentatively picked apart the stream of information for the source._

_He found it surprisingly quickly.  “Sherlock.”_

_“Busy.”_

_“Sherlock, this is—”_

_“—important!!!” Sherlock finished for him.  “I just heard it in your head.  He’s here.”_

_“Who’s here?” Clara asked, but it didn’t take long for her to figure it out, with Sherlock and John’s minds thinking it so strongly.  “James Moriarty???  The man who kidnapped Mum?”_

_“And the Doctor’s with him,” John said.  “In the middle of the city—Moriarty’s made a palace for himself.  This is his personal playground.  Sherlock, this is all my fault.  The ashes…when I killed him, I only sent him here, to make these poor souls’ lives a misery.”_

_Sherlock reached for John’s hand.  “This isn’t your fault.  It was my idea, with the ashes.  If anything, it’s mine.  And don’t worry, I doubt these people have just taken his rule lightly.  Look into your head—he’s tried to exert his power and the best he can do is make this dimension a dark place.  He can’t force them to do anything.”_

_John sifted through the stream in his head and saw people agreeing with Sherlock.  A chorus of minds who were listening in told him that the most Moriarty had been able to do was waltz in, put on a crown, and declare this place his world.  He hadn’t hurt anyone.  But they did wish he was gone so they could have their bright world back again.  “Well, we know where the Doctor is, but shouldn’t we fix the Moriarty problem before we leave?”_

_“There’s no way to destroy his existence here, I’ve already checked,” Clara said.  “The only way to get a mind out of here is to have a body waiting for it.  Lucky for us, all we have to do is come back to this spot and jump back through the Schism.”_

_“Hold on!” John said, furrowing his eyebrows.  “Okay, let me get this straight—how much can you do with your mind here?”_

_Sherlock smiled wickedly.  “Anything.  With concentration.”_

_“So couldn’t we just wish really hard for the Doctor to be here, right now?”_

_“We could,” Sherlock explained, “but Moriarty can hear everything we’re doing and saying, if he’s listening to us now.  All he has to do is follow.”_

_“Well, couldn’t we go to him, conjure up a portal back to the TARDIS, and run so Moriarty could never find us?”_

_“We wouldn’t be able to tell if the portal itself were a real one or just imaginary, one that looks like a portal back to the Untempered Schism—and we can’t risk that.  The place we came from,” Clara said, pointing to the burning hole they’d been sucked through, “is a weak spot in the veil surrounding Netherspace.  The people here can’t leave it without a receptacle, like a body, but we can get in.”_

_“Right.”  John nodded and crossed his arms.  “What’s the plan, then?”_

_“To the Doctor and Moriarty.  And we figure out how to negotiate with them,” Clara said, and she began to walk toward the center of the city.  Sherlock and John followed, though they didn’t travel for long: the fluid city changed to their will and took them straight to the palace gates._

_John whistled.  “This bloke doesn’t do anything halfway.  There are parapets and windowboxes and a dungeon.”_

_“Truly dreadful style,” Sherlock sniffed.  “It stinks of Moriarty.  Come on, let’s get the Doctor so we can all go home.”_

 

_The Doctor saw them coming as soon as they landed—he felt them get through and breathed out a huge sigh of relief.  Three distinct bodies coming through to the other side, unharmed.  He could feel Sherlock’s analytical thoughts enter his own and John’s concrete ones, and behind them was a stronger voice.  A piping, high voice that immediately made him feel safer._

_Clara was here.  Clara had found a way back to him._

_Unfortunately, Moriarty felt it too, and hissed when Sherlock arrived.  “He’s so prompt, the dear one.  And look!  They want to save you, just as I predicted.  You know, new dimensions, same story, really.”_

_“They’ll be here soon.  There’s nothing you can do.”_

_“Oh, but there is.  You’re going to take me with you.”_

_“There’s not a thing you can do to make me agree with you.  My mercy doesn’t extend to the man who nearly destroyed my child and killed my wife.”_

_Moriarty smirked and went back to using his head to speak._ So feisty, now that you have back-up.  Must be a habit of yours, though I do recall that the last time you and I faced off, you weren’t really the useful one.  Sherlock was.

            _“Save your petty insults, Jim.  They’re here,” the Doctor said.  He’d intended to keep his back to the door when they entered the throne room, but as soon as he heard Clara’s footsteps, he couldn’t help but turn around.  “Clara!”  
            Her eyes turned wide as saucers when she saw him again, and she ran to him full-force.  “Doctor!”_

_The two met in the middle and embraced tightly.  Clara threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shirt.  “I thought I’d never see you again!”_

_“Oh, don’t be daft, darling—you can’t keep me down for long!” he said with a wide smile, eyes dancing with joy.  “Oh, Clara, Clara, you impossible hero.  How did you know to come for me?”_

You could just search her brain, _Moriarty thought in a sour tone._ I already have.

            _“I will NOT sift through my daughter’s mind like it was sand, Moriarty!” the Doctor snapped.  “I am going to hear her own voice.  Come on, Clara, tell me.”_

_She beamed up at him.  “We all worked out a plan.  Sherlock had the idea of you in Netherspace, and Mum looked for information in the Library.”_

_The Doctor’s face fell.  “River…she went to the Library already?”  Guilt began to overwhelm him, since now he knew the double sacrifice River must have made, both to save his life and give up her own for information on Netherspace.  “Was it—did she—?”_

_“She’s fine, Dad.  We saved her.  But that requires a bit of explaining, too.  Anyway, we just tapped in through the Schism and some clever machines and voila!  Here we are!”_

_“Here you are, indeed,” the Doctor said.  He turned to face Sherlock and John.  “Boys!  Brilliant Sherlock Holmes, and John Watson!  You’re both so…old!”_

_“Same Doctor,” John said with a roll of his eyes.  “Welcome back, mate!  It’s wonderful to see you again!”_

_“Likewise, Dr. Watson!  How long’s it been?”_

_“Different for all of us.  For us, about eighteen years.  For Clara, only a few months,” Sherlock said quickly by way of greeting.  He chose to ignore the hug the Doctor offered him in order to walk straight up to a waiting Moriarty.  “Hello, reptile.”_

_“Missed me, honey?  I missed you lots,” Moriarty said._ Haven’t you got the hang of the whole thought-sending business?  A clever man like you should have figured it out immediately.

            _“I, like the Doctor, prefer to speak, I think,” Sherlock replied.  “I know how you got in here, and I know what you’ve done.  So I’ll make this simple for you—we’re leaving with the Doctor, right now, and you’re not going to follow us.”_

_“Ooooh, ‘fraid I can’t do that,” Moriarty said.  “In fact, I think I refuse.  You see, I have a sort of problem.  I’m rather bored around here, and I want to get back into the real world.  Alive and kicking, you know—so, since we all have the handy trick of reading each other’s minds, I happen to know that you’re able to get out of here.  A nifty little body swap, eh?  Well, I’m going to come with you, of course.”_

_“You can’t force your way into a body,” Sherlock argued.  “You don’t even know how.”_

_“You’re right.  But I can make it impossible to leave.  Besides, John doesn’t feel comfortable just leaving me here with all these innocent people, do you, Johnny-boy?”_

_John grimaced.  “Get the hell out of my head, Moriarty.”_

_“I see you married Gorgeous over here.  Lucky sod.  I won’t lie, I always thought I’d have that honor.  Once Sherlock joined my side.”_

_“Sherlock was never going to join ‘your side’.”  John walked past Clara and the Doctor to take his place by his husband.  “He’s always been mine.  I’d dare you to try and take him away from me, but I don’t Sherlock to see the mess I’m going to make of you if you take me up on that offer.”_

_“You’re still a dumb brute, I see.”_

_“Enough!” Clara shouted.  “All of you!” She walked slowly and methodically to Moriarty’s throne and faced him, crossing her arms and pulling herself to her full height.  “All right.  Jim, is it?”_

_“The one and only,” he said with a smile.  “You’re the Doctor’s brat.  I saw you when you were just a bump in a stomach.”_

_“Well, Mr. Jim, I have a deal for you.  One that I think will suit us all nicely.”_

_“Clara, don’t!” the Doctor shouted.  “Whatever you’re doing, don’t!  He isn’t going to be reasoned with!”  
            _ Let her talk, Doctor, _Moriarty thought.  He was amused.  He couldn’t help it._ Go on, Clara.  What’s the big idea, doll?  
            _“You like games, yeah?” Clara asked.  “Well, what if we play one right now?  What would you think of that?”_

Depends on the game.  And the stakes.

_“The stakes are this—if we win, we get to leave without you following us, and you have to release your control over this world.  If you win, you get to come back to life.”_

Interesting-ish.  Obvious, though.

            _“Sorry, I’m not super creative,” Clara said.  “Come on, then, Moriarty.  It’s what you want, isn’t it?”_

Fine, Clara, I’ll play.  _Moriarty stepped off his throne and made his way down the elaborate stairs to the group below._ How do we play?

_“Well, it’s…well, first, we need to stop with the whole mind thing.  It’s an unfair disadvantage,” Clara said._

_“Boring, but fine,” Moriarty said, coming close enough to Clara to realize he wasn’t much taller than her and feeling a bit thrown off by his height.  “We can use fancy words and mouths and everything.  How elementary.”_

_“That’s not what I mean,” Clara said, dismissing the idea.  “No, I mean everything.  No more mind-reading or anything, just like we were in the real world.”_

_Moriarty’s lips curled up in a wicked smile.  “As much as I’m sure you’d like that, dearie, it’s not that simple.  It’s part of this world.  You can’t just shut off the mind.”_

_“That’s not it!” she said, matching his smile.  “No, we don’t need to turn it off.  We need one person—one strong mind—to block us from being able to read each other’s.”_

_Moriarty laughed.  “That’s good.  Oooh, you’re clever, aren’t you?  Is it too late to ask for you to join me?  I could always use a queen, and you might look cuter in a crown than Sherlock at this point.”_

_“No, thank you,” Clara said, curling her lips in disgust.  “One strong mind, one with a sense of justice, who can separate us from reading each other’s minds so there’s no advantage.  Just pure cleverness.”_

_“And I suppose you think the Doctor is the person to do that?” Moriarty smirked.  “As if.”_

_“No.  Not the Doctor.”  Clara looked triumphant.  “John Watson.”_

_John jumped straight in the air when he heard his name.  “Sorry, what?”_

_“It’s obvious, John!” Clara said.  “You’re the only mind here that’s fit to keep Moriarty and me from each other’s heads.  The Doctor and Sherlock would be too tempted to tap into the knowledge available and help me, but you—you’re not comfortable with the stream yet.  You wouldn’t let anything leak through, and you’re the only one Moriarty would trust to be fair.”_

_“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘trust’…” Moriarty guffawed.  “But why not?  Johnny-boy, put up a mental block.”_

_“I can’t!  I don’t know how!  And even if I did, who’s to say I wouldn’t help Clara???”_

_“Me,” Clara said.  “Please, John.  It’s the only way we have a fighting chance out of this place.”_

_John gulped and tried to withstand Clara’s pleading eyes, but he knew she was right.  “For you, I’ll do it.  So, what, do I just…imagine a wall between you two?”_

_“That might help.”_

_“Right.”  John closed his eyes and concentrated, and almost immediately, the stream of consciousness that ran through his brain was clear, an electric river of thought that he could dissect.  He found Clara’s thoughts, distinct and bright green, and Moriarty’s black strings were twining slowly with hers.  With great effort that made him grunt out loud, he pulled at Clara’s thoughts as if they were ropes, which he found more difficult than he’d imagined.  They were steel cables of sorts, heavier than anything he’d lifted in real life, and he was trying to pull them with the strength of his own mind._

_A warm hand reached for his own, bringing comfort—Sherlock was trying to help him.  “All right, John?”_

_“Yeah, fine,” he said in a strained voice.  “Hold on.”  With a final tug, the green thoughts untangled from the smoky black ones and he imagined a strong brick wall between them, so the black tendrils of Moriarty’s mind were completely isolated from everything else.  To be fair to both of them, he searched for Clara’s thoughts and put them on the other side of the wall, so neither was connected to the minds of Netherspace._

_Clara gasped.  “He did it!  I can’t hear anything!”_

_“Looks like everything’s fair,” Moriarty grumbled.  “All right, what’s the game?”_

_“Er, well…it’s a simple one.  We came in through a weak spot in the fabric of time that separates Netherspace from all other universes and dimensions.  In order to get back to real life, we have to get to that hole, and I know where it is.  You have to find it.”_

_“How is it fair if you already know where it is and I don’t?”_

_“You’re the genius.  Use the knowledge you already have of this world to figure out where the weak spot is before I get there.  If you find it, we’ll take you with us.  If I get there first, we all get to leave.”_

_“You already know where it is.  You could take one step right now and get there.”_

_“Not with John in control.  You see, if we don’t tap into the rest of the minds here, we can’t conjure up portals and places out of the blue.  We’ll actually have to walk to the weak spot,” Clara said.  “And therein lies the brilliance.  You’ve had more experience with the layout of the city, since you’ve been here longer.  You can get anywhere if you’ve paid attention.  I know where the weak spot is, but I never had to navigate from the hole to your palace—I just brought myself here.”_

_“All right, I’m starting to get it, but I don’t like it.  It’s too…loooooose,” Moriarty pronounced, elongating the o’s until even Clara was dizzy._

_“Do you not want to play?” she asked.  “Do you doubt your own intellect?”_

_Moriarty scoffed.  “Let’s just go.  On your mark, get set…”_

_“…Go!” Clara said, and she hurriedly grabbed the Doctor by the hand and dragged him out the door._

_Moriarty sluggishly slipped out of the door and out of the palace, whistling idly while he walked onto the street.  “See you later, alligator.”_

_* * * * *_

_“Clara, you brilliant, mad, clever girl!” the Doctor said.  “I love you so much, but you’re a complete idiot!”_

_Clara shook her head and checked behind her as the Doctor, Sherlock, and John all exited the palace.  “All right, everyone?  John?”_

_“Fine, just fine,” John said, trying to hide a grimace.  “It stings a bit, but I can keep it going as long as I concentrate.  But you should probably leave me here, so I can focus on it.  I’m not really much for walking right now.”_

_Sherlock clung to his arm.  “You’re coming with us.  I’ll direct you, just close your eyes.  I’ll make sure you don’t trip.”_

_John obliged him and closed his eyes before winking at Sherlock.  “What would I do without you?”_

_“All right, boys, let’s go.  What did the place look like, the weak spot?” Clara asked.  “We can beat Moriarty, we just have to remember!”_

_“It was next to a dark grey skyscraper on both sides, in some back alley.  There were trash bins everywhere,” Sherlock recalled, but he looked a little dismayed at the sheer number of skyscrapers.  “Er, let me narrow down the options a bit.  And slow down, I don’t want John to fall.”_

_“You stay here and think, for a moment, while Clara and I scout out this street,” the Doctor ordered them, and he took Clara by the hand down several meters until they were out of earshot.  “Clara.”_

_“Dad, I know what I’m doing!”_

_“I don’t know if that’s true.  You don’t know Moriarty—if he wins, he could destroy whole universes.  At least he’s contained here!”  
            “Oh, Dad,” Clara said with a smirk, “he can’t win.  Even if he did, we don’t have a body to take him back in!”_

_“Exactly!”  
            “No, exactly, but in a good way!” Clara made him face her straight on and smiled victoriously.  “If he can’t read my mind, he doesn’t know that I only have bodies for the four of us.  Sherlock, John, and I are all in stasis mode aboard the TARDIS right now, and your body’s been in stasis mode since Trenzalore.  It’s been frozen and ready for this day—there isn’t a receptacle for Moriarty to come back to.”_

_The Doctor knitted his eyebrows together.  “If that’s true, what happens if he wins?”_

_“Then we tell him that we’ll go first and prepare for his transfer, and we’ll get out of here.  He’ll be left behind and won’t be able to follow.”_

_“This reaches a new level of ludicrous, but you’re the boss.”_

_Clara grinned.  “I know.  Say it again, though.”_

_“You’re the boss,” the Doctor said.  “Oh, I can’t wait until we can be back in the TARDIS again.  I’ve missed her almost as much as I’ve missed you, but you must never tell her that.”_

_“Oi, she might fight you on that.  She’s grown accustomed to me now,” she replied.  “Come on, back to the boys.  Maybe Sherlock remembers.”_

_As they walked back, Sherlock seemed to already have figured it out.  “It’s on the outskirts of the city,” Sherlock said decisively.  “The buildings there were shorter and less well-kept, and the palace seemed to be at least a kilometer away.”_

_Clara groaned.  “Is there any way we can get there faster than just walking that wouldn’t break the rules?”_

_“I could imagine a train,” the Doctor suggested._

_“Useless.”  Sherlock shook his head.  “I need more data, to tell where exactly it is on the outskirts of the city.  I’m looking it up.”_

_“Don’t!  Moriarty will be able to tell!”_

_“Moriarty’s thoughts are isolated,” John said in a pained voice.  “You’re safe—Sherlock, look it up.  I can’t keep this up forever.”  
            Sherlock nodded and quickly scanned the stream in his head, his eyes becoming vacant for a moment.  “No—no, that’s—okay, got it.  It’s south of here, and we have to hurry.  Moriarty’s already making his way there.”_

_The group nodded and began to run down the streets, with Sherlock holding John’s hand to make sure he didn’t fall._


	11. Chapter 11

Hamish had been keeping a silent vigil by the bodies, careful not to take his attention away from their vitals even as he itched to check on the people themselves.  He was kicking himself for not wishing his parents luck, but he wasn’t particularly worried.  Clara would keep them safe.

            “Knock, knock,” River said, rapping on the door.  Without preamble she walked right in and plopped down next to Clara’s body.  “How goes the day, sweetie?”

            “Boring, a bit,” Hamish admitted.  “Shouldn’t you be piloting the TARDIS right now?”

            “Well, I put an anchor down, so to speak.  New gravity field—the TARDIS won’t budge until I lift it.”  She raised an eyebrow at the boy.  “You know, I have a bone to pick with you.”

            Hamish held his hands up to defend himself.  “Should I be afraid?”

            “Very,” River laughed.  “You’re clearly enamored with my daughter.”

            He blushed.  “I know.  It’s bloody obvious, but I don’t know how to hide it.  Are you going to kill me?”

            “Kill you?  Of course I am,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.  “That is, if you hurt her in any way, but I feel like your fathers raised you better than that.  When exactly did this happen?”

            “I dunno,” he replied.  His voice got soft and dreamy, and it didn’t go unnoticed by River.  “I only met her a few days ago, but…when I saw her, she just dropped out of the sky, and she was so brilliant, and so…so happy to be alive.  She seemed like she was going to do something important, and I wanted to watch her do it.  Is that stupid?”

            “Yes.  But that’s love for you.  All right,” River said, “You can fancy my daughter all you like.  I daresay she likes you back.”

            “She doesn’t.”  His shoulders hunched over in defeat, but he kept a watchful eye on the heart monitors.  “She’s let me know in no uncertain terms that the age difference is a problem, and that she doesn’t reciprocate.”

            River smirked at him.  “Whether you’re in love with Lyra or not, you haven’t known her as long as I have, or her father, for that matter.  She’s very smitten with you, and that’s a guarantee.”

            Hamish couldn’t help but smile.  “Thanks, River.”

* * * * * * *

            _They’d been running for what seemed like hours, and every time John tripped or yelped in pain from running into something, it tore into Clara just as much as it hurt Sherlock to see him hurting.  She was starting to wish she hadn’t played this game, or put John through the difficulty of separating a mind like Moriarty’s and hers from the pack._

_Unable to conjure up the weak spot on command, the crew had to go by foot, which was even more difficult in Netherspace.  Often a street they’d be running down would morph and change according to another inhabitant’s wishes, which both fascinated and annoyed Sherlock, who had to keep dragging John along._

_“Stop, please!” John wheezed after a stream of near-constant running and stopping._

_Sherlock placed his hands on John’s shoulders.  “I’m sorry, love, we’ve got to keep going.  We’re not too far off, I can see it!”_

_“Sherlock, please,” John begged.  “You’ve got to take them there without me—I can’t keep this shield up forever, and I need to at least sit down and focus on it or everything will fall apart and Moriarty will win.”_

_Clara and the Doctor slowed to a stop.  “I’m not leaving you here,” Clara insisted.  “Who knows what could happen to you?  Hamish wouldn’t want me to leave.”_

_John winced at the mention of his son but kept his eyes closed and his mission on his mind.  “Clara, please, let me help you from here.  I can keep it up as long as I’m not doing this bloody running anymore.”_

_She sighed.  “All right.  But we’re coming right back for you when we win.”_

_“Unacceptable,” Sherlock said.  “I’m not leaving John anywhere by himself.”_

_“Sherlock—”_

_“No, John, you’re being absurd.  I’ll carry you, will that work?”_

_John actually laughed out loud.  “You’re 52, you sod.  There’s no way you’d be able to carry me.”_

_“Ah, but you see, we happen to be in a dimension based entirely on thought, and I’m currently thinking about how much I want to be twenty years younger,” Sherlock said, and as soon as he did, Clara and the Doctor saw him change in microseconds from a somewhat-frail and stringy older man with graying curls into the spry Sherlock from years past.  Sherlock gazed at himself incredulously.  “Brilliant!  Oh, fantastic, this feels fantastic!”_

_John grumbled.  “Did it work?  Bloody hell, did you turn into a foxy younger Sherlock when I can’t even open my eyes and appreciate it??”_

_“Oh, John,” he said with a grin, “who said you need your eyes?”_

_“Oi, all right!” the Doctor said.  “Sherlock, can you carry John?”_

_“Yes, yes, let’s get on with it!” Sherlock scooped up a protesting John bridal style and dashed off in the direction of the weak spot.  “Come on, the game’s afoot.  No time to lose!”_

_John shook his head in amazement.  “I would give anything in the world to see what you look like right now.”_

_“Oh, just the same as always,” Sherlock said while they ran.  “Just with darker hair and better muscles, I think.  KEEP YOUR EYES CLOSED!”_

_“They’re closed, they’re closed, I’m concentrating!” John focused hard despite the fact that he was being bobbed up and down in the awkward arms of his younger husband.  “Clara, what are we supposed to do if Moriarty gets there before we do?”_

_“It doesn’t matter if he does,” Clara told him.  “Right, Sherlock, right—I remember it now!  John, we don’t have a body for him to come back to, so it doesn’t matter if he gets there first or not.”_

_“So, what?  You lied to him?  What’s going to happen when he finds out?”_

_“If we’re lucky, we get there first and he doesn’t have to know—but if he wins, we just go in front of him through the weak spot so we get to our bodies before we do.”_

_“Right.  Got it,” John replied, and he bit his inner lip to concentrate on the wall.  Thankfully, Moriarty had stopped pushing and prying against the wall he’d made._

_Sherlock chuckled.  “You know, I can make you look young again, too, if you like.”_

_“Don’t you dare,” John said, but he suddenly felt stronger and lighter and he knew that Sherlock had already done it.  “Bloody hell, Sherlock, really?  I liked myself the way I was.”_

_“I can change it, you idiot—but you’re lighter this way.  Not that I mind, but you got a bit heavier over 18 years.”_

_“Yeah, all right, you sod, I don’t need to hear it,” John grumbled._

_“Don’t be stupid, John, I’ve never loved you for the way you look,” Sherlock said shortly, and John felt warm lips on his for a small second and momentarily forgot to grumble._

_And that’s when everything literally came crashing down around them.  John gasped as a white-hot stab of pain pierced his mind and the buildings surrounding them crumbled at the foundations and fell down in dusty heaps._

_“Sherlock, put me down!” he said in a strained voice while the Doctor and Clara were nearly crushed by a fallen tower.  Sherlock did as he said and placed John on the ground._

_“Are you all right?” Sherlock asked.  “What’s happening?”_

_John shushed him.  After the initial white pain, like an electric shock, his mind had gone completely blank, and it had terrified him.  Tentatively, he tried to check back into the knowledge stream, but the walls he’d made had tumbled down, and Moriarty’s black thoughts were screaming at him from across the distance, unintelligible words that spoke enough about his anger._

_“He knows,” he choked out.  “Moriarty knows.  Damn it, I was distracted for one moment, and the walls fell down.  I’m sorry.”  He opened his eyes and searched for Clara, who had crouched down next to him.  “I’m so sorry, Clara.  I tried to keep him out, but he heard that you lied and he isn’t happy.”_

_“It’s my fault,” Sherlock said.  “I kissed him—it was stupid, sentimental, I was just happy that—I’m sorry, Clara.  Let me deal with Moriarty.”_

_Clara shook her head.  “It’s not your fault.  I shouldn’t have done this.  I’ll deal with it.”_

_“No, I’ll deal with it,” the Doctor said.  He quickly sifted through Clara’s thoughts and found the weak spot, and with a thought he summoned everyone there, and Moriarty was waiting.  They were all back in the alleyway they’d come through, with a blue-orange hole in the middle of the back wall that morphed in and out of visibility.  Flames licked its edges._

_John scrambled to his feet and stood in front of Sherlock in a protective stance—the expression on Moriarty’s face was nothing short of terrifying._

_Moriarty held his rage in for the time being._ Down, boy, he’ll get it later.  I’m here for Clara.

            _“Just try and get to her, I dare you,” John said._

_“No one’s getting anyone,” the Doctor interrupted them.  “Moriarty, this is about you and me.  Leave my daughter out of it.”_

Stop it.  This isn’t your fight.  I tried to play your little game, _Moriarty thought.  His expression didn’t change; he kept his dark eyes trained on Clara, who stood fixed to the spot._ I even played fair.  But what’s the point if there’s no way for me to win?

            _“Jim, there isn’t a body for you to come back in.  I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, but there just isn’t.  But, if you let us go free, I will find a body for you.”_

Bull shit.

            _“Read my mind,” the Doctor said.  “You know that I’m not joking.  I’m not lying.  I will find someone for you, and if I don’t, you can have my body.”_

_“Doctor, NO!” Clara hissed.  “Don’t give him anything!”_

_“Clara, Moriarty will never let us leave this place without him.  We’ll be running around in his rat race forever, and we’ll never reach the finish line.  We have to try for him, too.”  The Doctor held Clara’s hand firmly and gave it a squeeze.  “Come on, Moriarty.  You either get a human body or a Time Lord one, and either deal is sweet.”_

I don’t make deals anymore.  Oh, I’ll be going with you, _Moriarty thought._ Make no mistake, I’ll be back in the land of the living soon—and you know what, I think I’ll take you up on that Time Lord body offer.  Thanks, Doc!

            _“No!” Clara hissed.  “Stop!  Not the Doctor’s, take mine!  You can go back in mine, and I’ll stay here!”_

_“Clara, no!  I forbid it!” the Doctor said._

_“Oh, and who’s going to enforce that?” Clara laughed derisively.  “Come on, Moriarty, you can go back in my body.  That’ll do just fine, won’t it?”_

Er, I’m afraid I’ll have to agree with the Doc on this one, _he thought with a shrug._ I can’t take your body, dear.  I’m going to shoot a bunch of holes in it when I come back to life.  Toodle-oo!

            _Before the Doctor could reach out and stop him, Moriarty waved at the group and pushed his way through the fiery hole._


	12. Chapter 12

_The Doctor screamed, reaching into his hair and pulling it out with his fists.  “No, no, no, NO, NO, NO!”_

_Clara gulped and slid down to the ground.  “I’m sorry, Dad…I thought I knew what I was doing.  I’m so sorry.”_

_“You think I CARE that he took my body?” the Doctor asked incredulously, sliding to the ground next to Clara.  “No, I care that he’s going to kill yours!  I don’t give a rat’s arse what happens to me, Clara, but you’re not going to die today!  I’m not going to doom you to live in this world!”_

_Sherlock cleared his throat.  “Doctor, we haven’t much time, but we do have a clear solution.  One that would satisfy all parties involved.”_

_“Is there really a clear solution?” the Doctor asked with a sneer.  “Oh, please, let me know how I can get all of us out of here, alive, today.  I’d love to hear it.”_

_“No need for sarcasm, Doctor,” Sherlock said.  “It’s elementary, really.  You’ll take my body.”_

_“No!” the Doctor and John shouted at the same time, but the Doctor continued.  “No, that’s never going to happen!  I’m not taking your life just to save my own hide!”  
            “Don’t be absurd.  You’re not doing it for yourself, you’re doing it for Clara.”  Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “Clara, the bodies we left—their minds are all opened on a telepathic channel, yes?  The TARDIS left the mental interface open, so all Moriarty has to do is tap into it and latch onto the Doctor’s body?  Why can’t the Doctor do the same for me?”_

_“Sherlock, we’re not going to leave you behind.  He can use my body, it really doesn’t matter,” Clara said firmly._

_“No, no, no, STOP with this whole body swap thing!” the Doctor yelled.  “It’s not going to happen!  You three are all going to go back, and I’m going to stay here, do you understand?”_

_“Doctor, with all due respect, I refuse to go back.”  Sherlock crossed his arms.  “It won’t be ideal—a Time Lord brain in a human body is a mess, but my mind was quite a bit cleverer than your average human’s, so you might have a better time of it.  Frequent headaches, I’d assume.”_

_“A Time Lord brain can’t fit into a human one, end of story.”_

_“Ah, but you’re not really a brain, are you?  You’re a mind, or a soul.  You just might be able to fit.  It’s the best chance you have.  Clara won’t do—sorry, dear, but you’re above average at best,” Sherlock said with an apologetic shrug to Clara.  “No, this is the only way that will work, and you haven’t much time to do it.  Doctor, you’ll take my body, Clara and John will go back to their bodies, and I’ll remain here.  It’s what we have.”_

_“What will you do?” Clara asked._

_“Oh, make the most of it.  It’s a higher plane entirely, Clara—with Moriarty gone, I can make it a brighter place, quite literally.  I can tap into everyone mind that’s ever been anywhere, and I can explore every world that’s ever been.  It won’t be too bad.”_

_“Sherlock,” the Doctor said, “if you do this…you won’t be able to come back.  You’ll never see Hamish again.”_

_Sherlock gulped.  “He’d understand.  He’s…grown up, now.  He can take care of himself.”_

_“You’ll never be able to truly die, Sherlock!” The Doctor walked up to him and put his hands on the taller man’s shoulders, shaking him.  “You have to understand, you’ll be stuck here for eternity, and you’ll never really die or go on to an afterlife, or whatever you believe in, do you get that?”_

_Sherlock faked a yawn.  “Dull.  I’d much prefer here.  John already knows that.  Will you hurry?  You don’t have much time.”_

_* * * * * * *_

Hamish’s attention had been fixed onto the monitors since River left, getting hypnotized by the slow beeps that signified heartbeats and brain activity.  Each line for each person was relatively steady and small, not betraying anything going on in their heads.

            Until— _finally_ —the flat line of the Doctor’s heart monitor spiked once, then twice, and began to beat wildly.  Hamish jumped out of his chair and pressed his nose almost onto the screen in surprise.  The beats quickly steadied to a lopsided rhythm that Hamish chalked up to having two hearts, like Clara had told him.  The Doctor was coming back.

            He left the monitors and went straight to the Doctor’s cot, where his previously clammy body was trembling violently.  He made sure the oxygen mask and wires were all in the right place when the pale man shot up like a bullet and opened his eyes, gasping for breath and blinking rapidly.

            “Hey, hey, mate, it’s all right,” Hamish said soothingly.  He put a comforting hand on the panicking man’s back.  “Welcome back, Doctor.  You’re the Doctor, yeah?  I’m Hamish Watson-Holmes, remember me?  You traveled with my family when I was four!”

            The Doctor scrabbled with the oxygen mask and tubes connected to him, and Hamish tried to stop his frenzy of activity.  “Whoa, Doctor, calm down.  Just breathe, okay?  You’re alive again, Clara brought you back.  I’m sure you’re very stressed and confused, but please just calm down.  You’re all right.  Breathe.”

            The Doctor slowed his breathing and gazed straight at Hamish.  He licked his lips once under the oxygen mask and said hoarsely, “Clara.”

            “Yeah, she’s fine.  She’ll be right behind—oh, she’s brilliant, I _knew_ she could do this!”

            The Doctor tried to get out of his cot, but Hamish steadied him.  “Hey, easy—look, she’s fine.  Clara’s over there, across the room.”  Hamish pointed to Clara, still sleeping softly on her cot.  “See, mate?  She’s fine.  Take a second to adjust—she warned me that if you didn’t relax, you could go into cardiac arrest, and then everything would be a waste.”

            He nodded, sending ginger curls bobbing on his head, and continued to blink.  “Is River on board?”

            “Er, yeah, she’s fine.  She’ll be pleased to see you up and about; she missed you loads.  Doctor!” Hamish cried when he pulled off the mask and took the tubes and needles out of his skin.  “Doctor, you really should wait!  I’ll bring her in!”

            “I’m going to see my lovely wife, kid—don’t get your pants in a twist.”  The Doctor smiled.  He took a few unsteady steps out of the sick bay and turned before he left through the door.  “What did you say your name was, again?”

            “Hamish.  Hamish Watson-Holmes.”

            “Oh?” The Doctor smiled a bit maliciously, something Hamish took note of.  “I knew your daddies, Hamish.  Just saw them, in fact.  I’m sure they’ll be around.”

            Then the Doctor waltzed out of the sick bay, leaving Hamish behind.  He felt too confused to follow, and for some reason, there was a strange, sick feeling in his chest.

* * * * * * *

            _“John, say something!” the Doctor insisted.  “You’re his husband—convince him to go, while there’s still time to save Clara!”_

_John, who had been standing steadfastly by Sherlock’s side, opened his mouth to speak a few times but ended up shaking his head.  “I don’t think I can, Doctor.”_

_“Of course you can!”_

_“He wants to stay, Doctor.  And you deserve to be alive, you have a family that lost you and needs you.”  John swallowed.  “Sherlock wants to be here, and far be it from me to make him live the rest of his life regretting not saving you.  Take his body.”_

_Sherlock smiled lightly in appreciation while the Doctor paced back and forth.  “You don’t understand, John!  Oh, you ridiculous humans—what are you going to do without him, hm?  How could you leave him here, by himself?”_

_“Oh, I won’t be leaving him anywhere,” John said.  “I’m staying with him.”_

_“NO.”  Sherlock pulled away from John in disbelief._

_The Doctor’s jaw dropped.  “You’re kidding.  Tell me you’re kidding!”_

_“John, please!” begged Clara.  “No one should have to stay behind!”_

_“I promised him,” John explained, “that I would never leave him, no matter what.  I couldn’t leave him if I tried.”  He faced Sherlock.  “Is that all right with you, then?”_

_Sherlock shook his head, shocked.  “You can’t.  You’ll die.  You’ve got to go on, John.”_

_“If I leave you here, when I die, I’ll go on to another world where you don’t exist,” John said simply.  “I couldn’t do that.  There wouldn’t be a heaven for me without Sherlock Holmes.”_

_“If you have an imprint here, there’s a good chance you’d exist here in some capacity when you died.”_

_“Do you want to take that chance?” John moved forward and captured Sherlock’s face between his hands.  “There’s no heaven or earth for me without you, and I refuse to lose you.  So I guess I’m stuck with you in this bloody ridiculous world.”_

_Sherlock blinked back what might have been an angry tear.  “You cannot—you simply can’t.  We have a son!”_

_“Hamish will understand, and Clara will take care of him.  You’ll take care of him, won’t you, Clara?” John asked her, not taking his eyes off Sherlock._

_“John…”_

_“You will.  He’ll inherit some money, enough to keep him through uni, and Mycroft will care for him.  And you’ll be there for him.”_

_Clara nodded.  “Of course I will.  But John—”_

_“There’s nothing you can do, guys,” John said.  “I’m staying here with Sherlock.  Doctor, you can take Sherlock’s body, and Clara, you can have your own, and we’ll be here.”  He smiled and pressed his forehead to Sherlock’s, not caring what the other two thought of him—he had to be here, in this space, touching Sherlock to make sure he didn’t disappear.  “A whole new dimension—I wonder if they’ll have crimes here.”_

_Sherlock grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and kissed him fiercely.  “My John.  I love you.”_

_“I love you, too, you git, “ John chuckled and wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s waist so he could face the Doctor and Clara.  “Right, you two.  Go on, no tears—it’s what we both want.  You have to hurry.”_

_* * * * * * *_

River noticed when the first mind came back—it rocked the TARDIS severely, causing a spark to ignite on the right side of the console board.  “Oh, come on, old girl, you can handle it.”  She busied herself with anchoring the gravity field more tightly around the TARDIS to keep it locked in place.  They couldn’t afford to get blown away in the Schism before everyone came back safely.

            She heard footfalls down the corridor and called for Hamish.  “Hey, Junior, shouldn’t you be watching for—oh, bloody hell, did something happen?”  River wheeled around to see who was coming, and to her utter shock, she saw _him_ coming down the hall.

            The Doctor.  Her Doctor.  Awkward steps, getting used to being alive again—vacant eyes, confused, ginger hair in the new incarnation, green eyes, pale skin—alive.  Living.  Breathing.

            She was frozen to the spot.  “You made it.  _Cass_.”

            He blinked in confusion.  “Adler?”

            “What?” She looked down at her form and laughed.  “Er, no, the Library—we had to do a body switch.  Do you…don’t you like it?”

            The Doctor paused at the top of the steps, looking over her in an eerie way that made River’s stomach turn, but then he smiled and she relaxed.  “It’s brilliant.  River?”

            “Yeah, that’s me,” she said.  “Oh, Doctor, I was afraid it wouldn’t work!  Thank goodness, I was so worried!”  She ran forward and embraced him, throwing warm arms over his cool skin and pressing kisses to his forehead and cheeks.  “I missed you,” she whispered breathlessly, “but why did you leave Lyra?”

            “Lyra?  Er…I wanted to see you first, love.  I missed you, too, you know,” he replied, bopping her affectionately on the nose.  “Where are we right now?”

            “Untempered Schism, waiting for the others to come back.  You know, Hamish really shouldn’t be left alone for the equipment,” she said, leading him by the hand to the sick bay.  “Come on, she should see you when she wakes up!  Big happy family reunion!”

            “Right.”  He trailed behind her slowly, making River pause.

            “Are you all right?” she asked.

            “Quite all right, my dear.  Let’s go see our little girl.”

            She released his hand.  “Doctor…” she said slowly.  “Doctor, second honeymoon?”

            “What?”

            “Where did we go, on our second honeymoon?” she asked.  “It’s a simple question, sweetie.”

            The Doctor smiled and reached for her hips.  “I remember it well,” he said in a low voice.  “Lots of shagging, as I remember.  Wouldn’t mind some of that now…”

            “Answer the question, Doctor.”

            He blinked once and then leaned in to kiss her.  “Oh, darling, I hardly remember anything.  Just getting my brain back, you know.”

            A slam connected with his left jawbone, pushing him straight to the ground with the force of the punch.  River rubbed her knuckles while the Doctor sank quickly to the floor.  “ _Never_ call me darling.  You’re not the Doctor.”

            He wiped at the blood in his split lip and glared up at her from the floor.  “I knew it would be tougher to fool you than that idiot with the bodies, but I’d hoped you were going to be dumber.  But you’re still the clever girl I remember—and I do hate a clever little bitch.”

            She pulled the gun in her holster out and aimed it at his head.  “Who are you?  Where’s the Doctor?”

            “Stuck, I’m afraid,” he said, getting off the ground and getting too close to River.  She cocked and aimed it straight at his head.  “Stuck and about to stay stuck, I’m afraid.  But oh, I am so very, very alive, my dear, and I am LOVING it!”

            “Who are you?!”

            “Oh, don’t you remember me?’ He pouted.  “I would have thought your eight months of captivity with me would warm you up a bit more.”

            She narrowed her eyes in pure hatred.  “ _Moriarty_.”

            “Surprise!”

            “What have you done with my husband?” she demanded, trying to hide how much her hands were shaking.  She wasn’t bad with a gun—she was _River Song_ —but the shock of losing the Doctor and gaining someone so evil in his body was so vile to her that she felt ready to faint.

            He smacked the gun out of her hands and seized her by the hair.  She screamed for Hamish to run and protect the bodies, but Moriarty clamped a hand over her mouth.  “Hush now, River—it’s not you I’m going to kill…first.  I’m after your daughter, actually, and oh, ho, ho, I am going to pump her stomach full of bullets.  Normally I don’t like to get my hands dirty, and I would usually draw out her death more, but I see a special irony in killing Clara in her father’s body, with her mother’s bullets…”

            River clawed at his arms and bit and fought with all her might, but Moriarty was taller and stronger and he shoved her against the metal wall of the TARDIS corridor, effectively knocking her out.

 * * * * * * *

            _Clara ran to Sherlock and John and threw her arms around them, crying softly into their shirts.  “I’m sorry, this is all my fault!  If I hadn’t lied, if I hadn’t asked you to come with me, then none of this would have happened.”_

_“Don’t be daft,” John said, placing a kiss on her forehead.  “We wanted to help you.  Clara, please, when you go—take care of Hamish.  He’s the one thing we don’t want to leave behind.  Tell him we love him more than anything and all we want is for him to be happy.  Tell him we wanted to save the Doctor, and that we wanted to set a good example.”_

_“What kind of example?” Sherlock asked._

_“The example where people who are in love fight to stay together,” John answered.  “Which we hope you’re going to follow, Clara.”_

_She pulled away from them.  “What are you talking about?”_

_“Come off it, we’re never going to see you or our son again—you can tell us that you fancy him.  It’s obvious,” John laughed._

_“I do NOT fancy him!”_

_Sherlock faked a yawn.  “Your pupils dilate whenever you see him, you’re constantly touching his arm or holding his hand, and you refuse to call him by his real name because it’s a defense mechanism to keep you from admitting your attraction to him, hence the specific, age-targeted nickname.  Don’t even try and deny a crush to a detective.”_

_“Or a father,” John added._

_Clara rolled her eyes.  “I read you loud and clear.  I’ll take care of him.”_

_The Doctor took her spot and hugged Sherlock and John.  “I can’t believe I’m saying goodbye to you again.”_

_“Neither can we,” John said.  “Be well, Doctor.  It was wonderful to see you again.”_

_“Take care of each other,” he said.  “Be safe.  And make this world a good one—I know you can do it.”_

_“Take care of Hamish, and Clara, and my body,” Sherlock asked him.  “And thank you, for everything.  We’re doing the right thing.”_

_“If you say so.”_

_“We do,” they said together.  “Go.”_

_The Doctor waved sadly and jumped through the fiery hole, and Clara waited behind for just a moment when she saw John and Sherlock turn away._

_“Are you sure about this?” Sherlock asked timidly, looking a bit guilty._

_John rolled his eyes and held Sherlock’s face again.  “I’m sure about you, always.  You promised you wouldn’t leave me—I’m making sure you make good on that promise.  Every minute of my life, remember?”_

_“I need to kiss you now.”_

_Clara smiled tearily as the couple embraced and kissed passionately, and she jumped through the gateway back to her world._


	13. Chapter 13

_Clara felt the same pulling and stretching that had occurred when she first got through to Netherspace.  Wind clawed at her insides, but she clung to the Doctor’s hand and ignored the pain, instead focusing on finding the pathway back to her head._

_Thankfully, he way back to her body showed its way, warm and familiar, and then—_ POP!  With a gasp, she came back, breathing in deeply out of the TARDIS’ air and opening her eyes.  Groaning, she pulled off the oxygen mask and helmet and sluggishly got off her cot.  She slid the needle out of her arm and shook her head to get the sedative out of her brain.  “Owwww,” she grumbled, clutching her head.  “H-Hamish?”

            The sick bay was empty—Hamish wasn’t sitting on his chair by the monitors.  Clara blinked wearily and held her forehead with her hands, as if trying to keep her brain from spilling out.  “Mish, where are you?”

            The Doctor’s cot was empty—Moriarty was here.  “Mish!!!”

            Sherlock jerked up in his bed.  “Ooooh!  Ohhhh, WOW!  Back in business, eh?  Oh, this is strange—I think I’m going to throw up.”

            Clara turned.  “Dad?”

            Sherlock was patting down his arms and pulling at his graying curls.  “Mmm, yep, that’d be me!  I’m alive again!  Oh, brilliant, this is fantastic!  One heart, though, that’s…strange.”  He opened his arms to Clara and offered her a bear hug, which she accepted happily.  “Oh, Clara, it’s amazing to hug you again, and actually feel it!”

            She snuggled into his shoulder and relished the moment for just a bit.  “Lyra.  I want you to call me Lyra from now on—Mum already does.”  She pulled away for just a moment and held his face in her hands.  “This is going to be so weird.  You look like Sherlock.”

            He shrugged.  “It’s his body.  But it’s me.  Does it seem like me?”

            “Yes,” she said with a giggle.  “Wait—say something only you would say.”

            He waggled his eyebrows.  “Fantastical margarine on flippy-floppy toast.”

            “Well, it’s you, Doctor, but seeing those words come out of Sherlock’s mouth is the strangest thing I’ve seen in years of time travel,” she said, wrinkling her nose.  “HAMISH!  Dad, we need to find Hamish and River—and Moriarty’s loose!”

            “Right.  Up you go, then!” the Doctor shouted, launching Clara off his lap and twirling out of the seat.  They ran out the door together as the Doctor explained, “He can’t have left the TARDIS if River anchored it here, especially since he can’t drive it.  Don’t worry, he’s in here somewhere.”

            “Closer than you think,” an unfamiliar voice drawled from outside.  The Doctor and Clara turned out of the sick bay and down the hall to find a tall redheaded man lounging over the TARDIS controls.  He drew a lazy circle between levers.  “You know, I see why you call it Sexy.  This machine is a smoooooth baby.”

            “Hands.  OFF,” the Doctor demanded.

            Moriarty raised an eyebrow.  “Hmm, this is an interesting switcheroo.  Is that the Doctor in there?  I do think it is.  Clara, tell me I’m lucky and that Sherlock’s mind is in your body, because I am thinking of the most interesting threesome right now.”

            “Never going to happen,” Clara hissed.

            “Oh, I’d say that’s about right.”  Moriarty took the gun from behind his back and aimed it directly at Clara’s head.  “Your mum has quite a stash of guns around.  I found at least two in her clothes and one in quite an intimate place…”

            “Where is River?” the Doctor growled, but Moriarty wagged a finger at him.

            “She’s waiting to be next.  You know, this is actually a pretty sweet deal, Doctor,” Moriarty continued.  “I get to kill the brat and the brat’s mother, like I should have done a long time ago, and I get to kill _you_.  And Sherlock’s body is mixed into it, too!  And best of all, as a prize for my marksmanship, I get a time machine!”  He clapped his hands together.  “Someone’s been reading my dream journal…”

            “No one is going to die today,” the Doctor said.  “Not even you.  Just put the gun down, now.”

            Moriarty cocked the gun.  “Don’t think I will.  Bye-bye, Clara!”

            A shot fired out, the sound echoing across the TARDIS, and the Doctor threw himself into Clara and pushed her down to the already-blood-specked ground.

            “No!  No, no, no, no!” the Doctor cried, pulling Clara close.  “Clara— _Lyra_ —it’s all right, you’re going to be all right!”  
            “Dad,” she said, her voice muffled from being pinned to the ground, “I wasn’t shot!  Get off me!”

            The Doctor’s eyebrows shot up and he backed off of Clara, who sat up and scanned the room.  Moriarty still stood in his unfamiliar body, scratching his red hair with his right hand and dipping a finger into the bloody bulletwound on his chest.  “Oh,” he gasped, pulling a blood-stained finger out of his ruined belly and looking at it, “that was unexpected.”

            The sound of a gun being prepped again came from behind Moriarty.  “ _Never_ ,” Hamish said in a low voice, “ _never_ threaten Clara Oswald in front of me.”

            And he shot again, this time getting the aim right and blowing another hole through Moriarty’s chest, and he fell to the floor with a thunk.  The gun in his hand dropped beneath the console and blood began to leak out and onto the floor.

            Hamish started wheezing and hyperventilating; he dropped the gun and began to shake.  “Oh, bloody hell, oh bloody _hell_ , oh my goodness I just killed a man, they’ll never let me go to Oxford now, Dad is going to KILL me…”

            “Mish,” Clara said, getting up from the floor.  “Mish, you just…”

            “I know,” he said.  “Sorry.  Getting used to it.  Give me a minute.”  He blinked a few times at the Doctor.  “Something tells me you are _not_ my father.”

            The Doctor gave him a half-hearted wave.  “Hullo.  I’m the Doctor.  Nice to see you again, Hamish…Er, about your parents.  This is probably the worst time in the world to explain this, but—”

            “Leave it to me, Dad,” Clara suggested.  “Go find Mum.  She’s probably sick with worry, or worse.” 

            “Er, right—thanks, Hamish!”  The Doctor waved at him again and bounded up the stairs, shouting for his wife, while Clara carefully climbed over Moriarty’s body and ran to Hamish.

            “Clara,” he said, “I’m sorry—he was going to kill you, I didn’t know what else to do.”

            “Shut up, you idiot.”  She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, nearly bending him in half to do so due to their heights.  Hamish tentatively put his arms around her; he could feel her shivering.

            “Do you hate me?” he asked.

            “No, Mish, I could never hate you.”  She chuckled into his ear and soothingly petted his dark hair.  “You just saved my life, you dolt.”

            “Er, right.  So I did.  But I also just killed a man.  I’ve never shot anything—Father used to try and teach me, but I could never hit anything.”

            “It doesn’t matter—that man was unspeakably evil,” she said.  “How in the world did you get away from him?  How did you know he wasn’t the Doctor?”

            “I dunno.”  He shrugged into her shoulder.  “He didn’t want me dead, I suppose.  But I got a bad feeling about him, so I grabbed one of River’s guns and tried to get into the console room without him noticing, and he was doing the whole big villain monologue thing with you and the Doctor.”  He pulled away with a confused expression.  “The man in Father’s body—that’s the Doctor, yeah?”

            “Yeah, that’s my dad.”  
            “Then where’s mine?”

            Clara blinked and pulled away, facing the console.  She pushed the green levers up and released the gravity field, and the TARDIS shuddered and beeped as it left the Untempered Schism.  Finally she said, “I’m so sorry, Hamish.”

            “What do you mean?” he asked.  “What do you mean, you’re sorry?”

            “Hamish…” she began, facing him with an apologetic look.  She cleared her throat.  “Something I found out with my dad…something I’m still learning…is that when you travel through time and space, sometimes things… _people_ …get lost.  Sometimes they get left behind.”

            He shook his head.  “You…you said you’d take care of them, you wouldn’t let anything happen to them.”

            “I tried, Mish, I tried!” she said.  “We were trying to fight that man—Moriarty—and he took the Doctor’s body before we could stop him.  Your father offered for the Doctor to take his place.”

            “And you let him?” Hamish continued to shake his head.  “Clara, bloody hell, you let him!”

            “You know Sherlock.  There wasn’t a point in asking.”

            Hamish walked back and forth on the deck, trying to piece it together.  “Holy shit, I can’t _believe_ this—what’s Dad going to do without him?”

            “He…he’s not coming back either.  They’re both not coming back.”

            Hamish stopped.  “My parents are dead.”

            “They’re still alive—they’re happy, they’re in a different dimension together.  They didn’t want to leave you!” Clara said.  “I promise you, they were worried about you, and they didn’t want to leave you, but they wanted to save the Doctor and John couldn’t leave Sherlock alone, you know he couldn’t.  And they said…to tell you that they love you.”

            “Stop.”

            “They said they love you more than anything, and, erm, that Mycroft will take care of you and that there’s money in the account for you, and that you’re to go to uni and watch over yourself.”  She paused, looking down at the controls.  “They said they wanted to set a good example for you, to fight for the person you love.  And they asked for me to take care of you, too.”

            He stared at her, open-mouthed.  “I think…I think I need some time.  Can I see them?”

            Clara nodded.  “Do you want me to leave you alone?”  
            “N-no.  Not right now.”

* * * *

            The Doctor ran down the TARDIS corridor, calling for River in his familiar, deep voice.  It was one thing to be stuck in a body he didn’t know, but to be in Sherlock’s body was beyond bizarre.  He’d seen this body too often in front of him, running around, holding John’s hand, being endlessly clever.  And Sherlock had been right—the Doctor could feel his mind pushing at the edges of Sherlock’s brain, with a headache threatening to take him out, and he suddenly felt very old.

            But it would do.  Sherlock could handle his mind in this body, and Sherlock’s mind was off somewhere miraculous…or at least, the Doctor hoped.

            “River!” he shouted.  “River, where are you?”

            Not too far inside the hall, he found someone slumped over near the wall, with blood trickling faintly out of the back of her head.  An unfamiliar body, pale and almost as skinny as Amy had been, was crumpled into a broken pile on the floor, wearing familiar clothes that the Doctor didn’t need to recognize her.

            This woman, this someone—was River.

            He crouched down next to her and gently pulled her off the ground, whispering her name.  “Come on, honey, wake up,” he encouraged her.  He tried willing a bit of regeneration energy into her system, but then he remembered who he was and grimaced.  He would have to get used to several things in a human body.

            When she didn’t wake and only moaned in her unconsciousness, so the Doctor scooped her up and carried her to the sick bay, carefully grabbing antiseptic and gauze to patch her up. 

She woke with a gasp at the sting of the antiseptic on the back of her head.  “Ouch!”  She clutched the back of her head with one hand and grabbed his wrist with the other, stopping him from doing anything else.  “Sherlock, what are you—Sherlock, you’ve got to stop him, _he’s going to kill my daughter_!”

He caught her hands before she could push him away and run out.  “ _River_.”

 

The way he said it was what caught her off guard.  For a moment, just a second, it sounded like…

“Doctor,” she breathed.  “Doctor, is it…?”

He smiled at her, a goofy grin that looked a bit out of place on Sherlock’s face.  “Hello, sweetie,” he quoted.  “Oh, I have missed you.”

“How did you know it was me?” she asked incredulously, reaching out and touching his face.  Everything was so familiar, but with a new mind in it, Sherlock’s features were transformed and lighter.

He did the same to her, tracing her nose with a finger, running a hand through her dark hair, taking in her nearly-violet eyes.  “I know my wife, River.  It doesn’t matter what you look like, I _know_ who you are.  I’d recognize you even if you looked like the King of the Dwarf-Slugs—and I’d still love you.”  He booped her on the nose.  “I missed your voice, River.  It’s a shame I won’t get to hear it again, but it doesn’t matter.  I can’t believe you’re alive—after the Library, I mean.”

“Crazy, I know, but we happen to have a brilliant daughter who would stop at nothing to see her parents safe,” chuckled River into his palm, which was still held firmly to her cheek.  “Even if they look quite a bit different now.  Where’s Sherlock, then?  Only John’s body is left behind.”

The Doctor shook his head and bid her turn around so he could keep cleaning the blood away from the back of her head.  “They stayed behind.  In Netherspace, together.”

“Oh, no,” River said.  “Hamish…”

“Lyra’s taking care of it.  Look, all better!” he said with a flourish, taping a piece of gauze to the cut.

“I’ll say,” River replied flirtily.  She leaned in close.  “I have some lips to test out.”

“I think I do, too.”  And for the first time in a long, long time, the Doctor leaned in and captured River’s lips with his own, and he relished kissing his wife.  Sure, it was Sherlock’s unfamiliar lips on Irene Adler’s, but the feeling of River was there, somehow in the smile she wore when she kissed him and the joy she put into it.  It was all River, and it was every bit as beautiful and enjoyable as it had been in his old body.  Just different.

He pulled away and breathed deeply.  “Too weird?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.  “It’s you.  It’s still you.  Just think, we have all sorts of things to try in these bodies.”

“Ugh, take it easy on me, woman—I only have one heart, and according to John, I’m 52.”

“Oh, I think you can handle it,” she said.  She pulled on a dark curl and smiled.  “So, John isn’t coming back?”

“No, he’s staying with Sherlock.  We’ll have to let his body go, and we have Moriarty’s to get rid of, too.”

River frowned.  “Moriarty took _your_ body—oh, this is bloody confusing.  Did you kill him?  Is Lyra safe?”

“Of course Lyra’s safe—do you think I’d come in and snog you if she wasn’t?” the Doctor scoffed.  “Hamish saved the both of us.  Brilliant boy, Hamish Watson-Holmes.  I suppose he’s her companion?”

“Oh, he’s a bit more than _that_.”  River chuckled into his shoulder.  “Your daughter has a suitor.”

“What?  No!  No, no, no, no, no, _noooo_ ,” the Doctor said.  “No, she’s not going to do anything with any boys or girls or anyone, not until she’s at least 40.”

“I don’t think you get a say, Cass.  She likes him a lot, and he _did_ save both your lives.  Can’t you give young love a chance?”

The Doctor just grumbled, hearing footsteps down the corridor.  “We’ll see.  Looks like they’re on their way.”

Hamish came in, looking gaunt with a tearstreaked face, and stood in the threshold.  Clara came in behind him and tugged him forward, holding his hand tightly.  “Come on, Mish.  You can do this.”

He nodded and wiped his nose on his sleeve.  “Dad.”

“No, sorry, I’m the Doctor,” the Doctor said apologetically, but Hamish shook his head.

“No, Sherlock was ‘Father,’ ” Clara said.  “John was ‘Dad.’  He means John.”

Hamish didn’t say anything to confirm this; he walked over with Clara in tow and pulled his chair next to John’s body, which was still plugged in and living.  “What do we do?” he whispered.  “How…?”

“The helmet and mask keep him in stasis mode with the TARDIS’ help,” Clara explained softly.  “If we take it off, without a mind to pilot it, he’ll just…go.”

“Will it hurt?” he whimpered, and Clara put a protective arm around his shoulder.

“No.  Sedative in the needle.  He’ll be with Sherlock.”

Hamish looked at the Doctor when she said it, trying hard not to glare at him but failing miserably.  “All right.  Do it, then.”

“Mish…”

“Go on, take off the helmet.  I don’t want to keep him from being with Father.”

Clara nodded once and carefully removed the helmet and mask from John’s head, letting her hand linger on his forehead.  Hamish tuned out when the monitors showed a flatline for brain activity and heartbeats.  Instead, he stood up and faced the Doctor.

“Hamish, I’m so sorry,” the Doctor said.  “Your father…both of them…they were heroes.  They were great men.”

“I know.”  Hamish stood awkwardly in front of the Doctor and shifted from foot to foot.  “I know you’re not Father, and I do remember you, from when I was a kid.  And I’m glad Clara has her father back, but can I…can I pretend, for just thirty seconds, that you’re still my father?”

The Doctor gulped.  “I don’t see why not.”

“Right.”  Hamish rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment, and then he launched himself at the Doctor and hugged him fiercely.  The Doctor flailed for a moment, a bit unsure of what to do, but a nod from River reminded him how to hug and he wrapped his arms around Hamish’s shaking frame.  “There, there, Mish.  It’s all right.”

“Sorry—I’m sorry,” Hamish sniffled into the Doctor’s purple shirt, ruining it with tears.  “It’s just—you look like him and still _smell_ like him and sound like him…”

“It’s quite all right.  You can keep doing that—hugging thing—if you want.”

“Nah, I’m done.”  Hamish wiped his nose again and looked, mortified, at the Doctor’s shirt.  “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve completely ruined that.”

“No big deal—not my style anyway,” the Doctor said cheekily.  “I have an extra tweed jacket around here somewhere, and River’s probably hidden my bowties somewhere, but I’ll get them back.”

“How are you going to do that, sweetie?”

“My powers of persuasion, of course.”

Hamish got whiter, if that was possible.  “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Dad!  Mum!” Clara said, glaring at her parents.  “Is this the best place for this?”

“Probably not, but there are some things to discuss,” the Doctor said.  He grabbed River’s hand and pulled her out the door.  “Meet us in the kitchen?  I’ll make Crème à la Junior!”

Hamish blinked in confusion.  “How does he know what that is?”

“Long story,” Clara laughed.  “There’s sort of a telepathy thing in Netherspace, and he probably read my mind about it when I was thinking of you.”

“And you were thinking about me?”

She bit her lip.  “Yes.”

He nodded and sat down on his chair again.  “What exactly did you think about, concerning me?”

“Do you really want to hear about this?  I mean, shouldn’t you hate me?  If I hadn’t asked your parents—”

            “Clara.”

            “—and I hadn’t dragged you on this mad adventure—they didn’t want to do it, they didn’t want to leave you, but I wheedled them into it.  If I’d just stayed out of their lives, you’d still have your parents.”  She wrapped her arms around herself and hunched her skinny shoulders, trying to keep tears at bay.  Once again, she’d done something horrible, and it was all her fault.

            “Clara, if you hadn’t come to ask them to help you, I never would have met you,” Hamish said slowly.  “And if I hadn’t met you…Clara, I don’t even want to think about that.  I don’t want to think about never meeting you.”

            “Mish—”

            “My life was so _boring_ , so useless, until you dropped out of the sky and smiled at me.  I wouldn’t trade that for anything.  If my dads can fight for their marriage in another bloody dimension, I can fight for you, too.”  He stood up and took her by the shoulders.  “I’m not angry with you.  I couldn’t hate you.”

            “You sure about that, Junior?”

            “Well, I _am_ angry.  I can’t just—not be angry, I’ll admit it.  And I don’t know how long—how long it will take,” he said, choking up just the smallest bit, “to not be upset about this.  I think the point is that I’ll never be…not upset.  I mean, I lost my dads, and that—hurts.  It hurts like nothing I’ve ever felt.  But I’m going to try and pretend…that they’re not dead.  Because they’re not, not really.”

            Clara opened her mouth to interrupt him, but he stopped her by putting a finger on her mouth.

            “When I was a kid, sometimes there were long periods of time when they’d have to leave me for a case.  They’d try and come back as soon as they could, but sometimes…you know, the nation called.  And my parents were— _are_ —the best at their jobs.  So Mrs. Hudson would watch me, and when she died, my aunt Molly would watch me, and I would sit by my window in my bedroom with my little toy dinosaur that Father got me and I would wait for them to come back.  I would watch every single cab that passed by our flat and pray that they were inside, and after a long time, I kind of got used to waiting, because it would give me something important to do.  So I’m going to pretend now that they’re off on a case, and that all I have to do is be there at the window and wait for them.  If I can do that, they’re not really dead. They’re off on a long, long trip.”

            Clara felt tears well in her throat and only nodded.  “I think that sounds really good.  Very good.” 

            “Of course it’s good.  Come on,” he said, beckoning her out the door.  “I could really, _really_ use some milk with marshmallows.”


	14. Chapter 14

At first, the conversation over the table and mugs of milk seemed forced and cheery, since the Doctor was used to putting tragedy behind him quickly in order to move on.  Hamish wasn’t really having much of it, but after an hour of fake smiles and tiptoeing around feelings, the Doctor spilled scalding milk onto his lap on accident and hopped around like a deranged otter to avoid the pain of the heat.

            It made Hamish laugh so hard he fell off his chair, and from then on the four seemed more relaxed by far.  They acknowledged the loss, as the absence of Sherlock’s analytical remarks and John trying to keep him from embarrassing someone was evident, but it showed promise for something—a new family that could heal.

            “And then—you won’t _believe_ what Sherlock did after that—he told the Slorgon Emperor that the Empress was cheating on him with a faulty Cyberman!!!” the Doctor said, guffawing into his third mug of Crème à la Junior.

            Hamish held tightly onto Clara’s hand to keep from slipping off his chair again.  “That sounds like him.  Where was I when all this was happening?”

            “That’s the best part!  John couldn’t even see the Medusa Cascade because he was trying to find you, and you were off trying to find more Jammie Dodgers in the grand kitchen, and you managed to build a small-scale castle out of it!  Sherlock happened to find you and he started helping you make it, and by the time we all found you, you both had made a copy of the Coliseum together!  Oh, Sherlock really loved you,” the Doctor said.  “He and John adored you, they loved you so very much.  I hope you know that.”

            Hamish nodded.  “I know.  So, what’s the plan, then?  What do we do, now?”

            “Well, they’ve left you 221B,” Clara explained.  “And the money in their accounts, which Sherlock happened to tell me is no small amount, since they wanted a nice nest egg for you if anything happened to you.  You can live there on your own and go to uni in the fall.”

            “Uni!  Brilliant!” the Doctor said.  “Where are you going?”

            “Oh, he’s an Oxford man, sweetie,” River purred, looping her arm through his.  “Didn’t you used to teach at Oxford?”

            “Well, yes, for about two days, but I was investigating something…oh, I sound like Sherlock now, don’t I?”

            “Yeah, a bit,” Hamish laughed.  “Wow.  What are you two going to do?”

            “Well, they’ll take the TARDIS back,” Clara said for them.  “Won’t you, Dad?”

            Silence crept over the table as the Doctor hesitated.  He gulped and looked to River, who took his hand encouragingly.  “Well, dear, your mum and I wanted to discuss that with you…”

            “What’s to discuss?  You have your machine back, and she missed you.  We’ll all travel together.”

            He shook his head.  “Clara, trust me, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think…I think it might be time for me to settle down.”

            Her jaw dropped open.  “You’re kidding.  You’re the Doctor, of course you’ll keep traveling.  It’s what you do.  You’re a Time Lord, it’s all you know!”

            “I was a Time Lord,” he said.  “I used to be.  But this body doesn’t have any regenerations, and neither does River.  If I keep in shape, I’ll get thirty more years, and that’s optimistic.  Sherlock didn’t take very good care of himself.  River probably won’t get much more than me, and if one of us were to die, that would be the end.  What would the point of coming back to life be if we just died again?”

            “But you’ll be careful!” Clara argued.  “You’re the Doctor and River Song.  You can’t just settle down!  You don’t know how.”

            River shrugged.  “We can still travel around the world.  Maybe the Doctor can take Sherlock’s old job.  He’ll be in the body they’re expecting, anyway—I’m sure he can solve cases almost as well.”

            Clara was shaking her head, denying it.  “I don’t believe this.  I can’t believe this.  Who’ll take the TARDIS?”

            “You, sweetie.  The Doctor left her to you, anyway.  She’s yours for as long as you want her.”

            “I don’t want the TARDIS.  You can have her back.”

            The Doctor chuckled.  “Liar, liar, pants on fire.  You love the TARDIS—you’re just trying to be nice to your old dad.”  
            “And is that so wrong?” asked Clara.  “I’ve already messed up enough in my life.”

            “Don’t say that,” Hamish said, squeezing her hand.  “Your parents are trying to give you a gift, Clara—embrace it.”

            “Besides, you do have a companion,” the Doctor said, nodding to Hamish.  “A great one, I daresay.  Our family knows how to pick ’em, I’ll say that much.”

            “I’d agree with you on that,” Clara replied.  She smiled gratefully at Hamish.  “All right, all right—thank you, Mum and Dad!  Hamish, what do you say?  Travel the stars with me?”  
            “I thought you’d never ask.  Of course, I need to be back for uni…”  Hamish brought his mug to the sink along with Clara’s and the Doctor’s, since River was still nursing her cupful.  “If you two need a place to stay, the world doesn’t know that Sherlock Holmes is dead.  You can live at 221B, if you like.”

            “Oh, Hamish, that’s very kind of you, but we couldn’t,” River said, but Hamish shook his head vehemently.

            “It’s my house, isn’t it?  I can rent it out to any tenants I want—as long as I can keep my bedroom upstairs.”

            The Doctor bowed his head in gratitude.  “That’s very kind of you.  Thank you, Mish.  This is going to be so cool, being all domestic and eating food on a regular schedule!  I’m going to eat lots of chips…”

            “You’re going to get bored in 45 minutes,” River disagreed.  “But you’re going to have to get used to it.  I’ll see if I can find a vortex manipulator to ease the boredom, when it gets bad…”

            “River, imagine what it will do to my hair…”

            The older couple left the kitchen to pilot the TARDIS away, leaving Clara and Hamish alone at the table.  Clara fiddled with her thumbs and smiled to herself.  “I can’t believe it—the TARDIS is mine.  I don’t deserve her.”

            “Of course you do,” Hamish said.  He pulled his chair closer to Clara and kissed her temple, and for once, she didn’t have a comment or disparaging remark about his age.  “Can I learn how to fly her?”

            “Never, ever.  My family is the strangest,” she sighed, leaning into his shoulder.

            “I like them.  Looks like I’m going to have to impress them.”  He looked at her hopefully.  “Bad timing, I know, but…we said ‘to be continued.’ ” 

            “I know.  But I don’t know what to say about it,” Clara said, putting her head in his hands.

            “Are you…upset that I have feelings for you?”

            “A bit, but only because you’re so young.  It’s not you,” she explained.  “Do you want to know the last thing I saw, when I was leaving Netherspace?”

            “Go for it.”

            “I saw,” she said, “your parents, reassuring each other that staying together was the best choice, even in a strange new world, even though they knew it meant they could never be with you, even though it meant that they could never really die…and they looked so happy.  Scared, but happy that they could at least be together.  And they told me they wanted me to fight for love the way they did, and then I came back here and you were so willing and ready to save me.”  She pursed her lips.  “It was much appreciated.”

            He raised an eyebrow.  “Me saving your life was ‘much appreciated’?”

            “Thank you?”

            “That’s a start.”

            “I’m sorry, I’m rubbish at this,” she said.  She bit her lip and concentrated.  “I like you, too.”

            “That’s better.”

            “I just wish you hadn’t had to do it.  I’ve already taken so much from you, and–”

            “Clara,” he groaned.  “Please stop—or at least know that I would kill that man, or a hundred others, if it meant that you’d be safe.  I have a bad aim, so I wouldn’t do a good job of it, but I’d keep you safe.  I kind of grew up with a perfect love story, so I know the drill.”

            She grinned.  “Oh, do you, now?”

            “I do.”  He reached over and stroked Clara’s cheek.  “Erm, Clara?”

            “Yes, Hamish Watson-Holmes?”

            “I love you.”  He coughed.  “I wanted to be more manly about this.”

            She shook her head and laughed.  “No, no, it’s fine.  Keep talking.”

            “I love you—and I know that sounds crazy, and it is, it definitely is, I know it.  Trust me, I know it’s stupid—not that you’re stupid, but er—well, I lost my dads today.  But they get to be together, and you said they were trying to teach us some lesson, and really, that is _just_ like Father to turn his own death into a lesson, but anyway… I’ve been living my entire life in their shadow, and it wasn’t _bad_ , but I always felt like I had to measure up to them in some way and find something to be remembered for, and when I saw you coming out of that blue box, it was…cosmic.  I knew that was it, for me.”

            “What was what?”

            “I knew that you were my greatness.  The greatest thing I’ll ever do—no, not like that!”  He blushed.  “I mean, the greatest thing I’ll ever do is love you.  I don’t mind being the sidekick, not to you.  I told you, the second I saw you, I was hooked.”

            She wrinkled her nose.  “I don’t really believe in love at first sight stuff.”

            “Oh, I do,” he said with a smile.  “Dad told me once, under the promise never to tell Father, that he fell in love as soon as he saw Father, and I never believed him.  He used to say, ‘As soon as I walked into that lab and saw that gorgeous creature and he first spoke to me—Afghanistan or Iraq, he asked me—it hit me like a ton of bricks, and I bloody well fought it for two years before I realized I was completely in love with him.’  And I felt that ton of bricks, Clara.  They’ve been bludgeoning me since I met you.”

            A slow, huge smile spread across her face and she looked up at Hamish warmly.  “Lyra.”

            “Lyra?”

            “Lyradesphielumandar.  It’s my real name,” she said.  “It’s kind of a long story, and I’d be happy to tell you, but Dad gave me a Time Lady name when I was born, and it’s Lyradesphielumandar.”

            “Oh.  Erm, it’s lovely.  Could you say that again, maybe write it down?”

            She shoved him playfully.  “Sod off, this is supposed to be a beautiful moment.  Dad said that Time Lords can only tell their name to one person, only under very special circumstances, and that I’d know the person I was meant to tell it to.”

            Hamish’s eyes widened.  “One person…”

            “Congratulations, Mish.  I think I love you, too.”  She shook her head.  “No, I do.  I do love you, Hamish.  It feels like it’s raining bricks on my head right now.”

            Hamish looked blindingly happy.  “Wow.  Wow.”  Leaning in close, he smiled widely and put a hand on her waist.  “I know what happens next.”

            “And what’s that?” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders.  
            “I’m no expert, but I think I kiss you now.  Fair warning, I’ve never actually kissed a girl—anyone—before.”

            “You’re kidding.”

            “I’m a bit of a nerd.”

            “You’re _my_ nerd.  And nerds love lessons, don’t they?” She closed the gap between them and kissed him firmly on the lips.  “Lesson one.”


	15. Chapter 15

“You know, this still doesn’t solve our problem,” she finally said after five minutes of snogging.  Hamish, though clearly inexperienced, was a quick study.  “I’m still six— _six_ —years older than you!  And I don’t feel comfortable entering a relationship with just a kid!”

            He rolled his eyes and kept moving in for another kiss.  “I don’t act 18.  Besides, I’m legal.”

            “You’re too randy to make sense right now, Mish.  Keep it cool for a minute while we work this out.”  She tapped a few fingers on the table.  “It doesn’t really work, the way it is.  When you’re my age and you should be out snogging lots of other girls and getting drunk, I’ll be thirty and old-looking.”

            “I don’t want to snog other girls.”

            “Do you want to snog a thirty-year-old one?”

            “It’ll be _you_ , so it won’t matter.”

            “Besides, you have uni in the fall.  What, am I going to pick you up from school, like some parent?  No!” she said decisively.  “No, that won’t work.  This won’t work.  Bloody hell, I don’t know how to do this.”

            He groaned and crossed his arms.  “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.”

            “Well, maybe when you’re older, you’ll understand.”  She stuck her tongue out at him.  “Besides, I don’t want you to just be my sidekick—you’re the son of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.  You are every bit as clever and wonderful as they are, and you should have the chance to pursue your own life.”

            “But your dad’s companions didn’t really have much of a life outside the Doctor,” he pointed out.

            “True, but don’t you think my _boyfriend_ should?” she sighed.

            Hamish paused for a minute, thinking about possible solutions.  “You do have a time machine.  Not sure if you knew that.”

            She blinked and looked at him incredulously.  “Sorry?”

            “You have a time machine,” he said.  “How many years?  What would it take for us to be safe, age-wise and experience-wise?  Three years?  Four?”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “I’m saying you should drop me off with your parents, Clara,” he said.  “I’ll live at 221B with them—it’ll be like Father’s still around.  We can claim River as an aunt or something and say Dad died on a trip, and I’ll go to Oxford in the fall.  I’ll get a degree in whatever, and I’ll find my own life, like you want me to.  And when I’m done with my degree—let’s say four years—you come get me.  I’ll be twenty-two, only two years younger than you.  Is that good?”

            “Mish!  That’s…that’s brilliant, but you’d have to wait!  I mean, four years is a really long time, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

            “I don’t care,” he said.  “I’d do it for you.”

            “Lots of pretty girls at uni.  You’d be tempted.  In fact, maybe it’s better if you are.”

            “Not going to happen.  You’re it for me, Lyradespheladar.”  He seemed impressed with himself with the pronunciation, but when Clara started to giggle at how he butchered her name, he smacked his face for good measure.  “Lyradesphielandar?”

            “Lee-ra-des-fee-ell-loo-man-dar,” she pronounced for him.

            “Lyradesphielumandar,” he repeated.  “Right.”

            Clara giggled all the more to herself and stared at him, unsure of what to make of this boy who was willing to wait for her.  “You know, my grandparents, Rory and Amy Pond, they waited for each other.  Rory waited 2,000 years for Amy.”

            “Don’t make me compete with your granddad, I already think four years is a long time, without you.”

            “I’m just saying!” she laughed.  “The granddaughter of Rory and Amy Pond, the daughter of the Doctor and River Song…going out with the son of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.”

            “Bloody hell,” Hamish said, shaking his head.  “We should get a coat of arms or something.  Have an ancestral home out in Scotland.”

            “I think the TARDIS counts as an ancestral home,” she quipped.  “All right, are you sure you want to do this?  I mean, I’ll be seeing you in four minutes, and you’ll be waiting four years.  Are you sure this is what you want?”

            “I want you.  If you’re sure about this, then so am I.”  He stuck his hand out.  “Shake on it.”

            Clara proudly took his hand and shook it before kissing him once on the forehead.  “Let’s get you home, then.  I’ll drop you and my parents off and travel as quick as I can.  If it’s possible, please don’t fall in love with someone else.”

            “And what kind of companion would I be if I didn’t listen to you?”

 

_Several months earlier_

            “And what are you thinking of wearing to the wedding?” River asked her daughter, trailing her hands down the wardrobe racks.  “I think I’m going to show off—would you be very mortified if your old mum bared some serious cleavage, sweetie?”

            “It’s not really my style, but go for it,” Clara replied.  She’d been eyeing a filmy yellow dress for a few minutes, not sure if she wanted to put it on yet.  “Are you sure you want to go to this?  I mean, it hasn’t been long since…”

            Clara still did not want to say it.  She didn’t want to admit that only weeks ago, the last time she’d seen Sherlock and John, they’d been fighting for the Doctor’s life at Trenzalore…and she’d failed him.

            River eyed her carefully.  “Stop that.  You’re doing it again.  The guilt thing—how many times do we have to tell you that it isn’t your fault?”

            “None.  I still wouldn’t believe it.”  Clara straightened up and let go of the yellow dress.  “I think I’m going out—I’ll go to London and do some shopping for a dress.”

            “Your TARDIS, your rules.  Let’s try and make it snappy, though, sweetie—I don’t like to be too late, only fashionably late.”

            Clara nodded at her mother while she continued to hum and look at different gowns.  It couldn’t have been easy, pretending everything was all right for Clara’s sake.

            Skipping along to the TARDIS console, Clara tried to think for a moment about which levers and buttons to push to get to London.  Driving the TARDIS was more thought-oriented than action-oriented, as River had taught her, but she was getting the hang of it.  With a few tentative tappings on the keyboard, she managed to get the blue box safely to London, and she took her bag and umbrella off the coat rack before leaving into the foggy city air.

            Not two steps out of the TARDIS, Clara saw something she never expected to see—herself, sitting on a bench with her own TARDIS parked a few meters away.

            She gulped.  “Are you me, then?  Or are you a different incarnation, like the Victorian one or the starship one, or—”

            “You.  From the future,” her counterpart said in a spooky voice.  “Apparently, Dad says this happens a lot.”

            “Dad?  ‘Says’?  You mean you got him back?  Is everything okay?”

            She waggled her eyebrows.  “Spoilers.  Mum taught me that word.  Anyway, I can’t stay long—I sort of have an appointment to keep.”

            Clara sat next to her on the bench.  “What kind of appointment?”

            “I have a date—a very important one.  Anyway, you’re about to go to Sherlock and John’s wedding, yeah?”

            “Er, right.  What about it?”

            “You can’t go without a wedding present,” Future Clara said.  With a flourish, she handed a manila folder stuffed with papers to Clara.  “This must be delivered to Sherlock and John tonight.  The entire future depends on it.”

            Clara wrinkled her nose in confusion.  “What are all these papers?”

            “Adoption forms.  These will make sure they adopt the right kid, when the time comes.  You’ve got to arrange it so they finish the adoption papers and become his father.”  Future Clara smiled.  “His name is going to be Hamish.”

            Clara skimmed through the papers, pausing to look at the picture clipped to the identification information—a baby boy with fluffy dark hair and a huge, toothless smile.  “What’s so important about this baby and the future?”

            “Well…” Future Clara bit her lip and thought of the best way to put it.  “I can’t tell you anything major.  Suffice it to say he’s going to be important.”

            “Important how?”

            “You’re going to need him, Clara.” Her counterpart looked her squarely in the eyes.  “You’re going to need him…a lot more than you think.  And he needs you.  So hop to it!”  
            With that, she got off the bench and walked back to her own TARDIS.  “Oh, and have fun at the wedding!  Don’t bother trying to get there on time—you’ll be there when it counts.  And wear the yellow dress!”

            Clara was left gaping as the TARDIS wheezed itself away, and with a shrug, she walked back to her own blue box.  “Mum, I changed my mind.  I’m going to wear the yellow one.”

 * * * *

            Clara laughed all the way back to her TARDIS at the expression on her past self’s face.  It had been so completely priceless; she wished Hamish had been there to laugh about it with her.

            Well, he would be, and soon.

            With a nervous and excited sort of energy, she walked on jittery legs up to the TARDIS console and tapped her fingers on the edge of the control panels.  It had only been a few hours since she’d left Hamish back at 221B, giving a tearful goodbye to her parents.  The Doctor had run around the flat excitedly for a few minutes before collapsing, exhausted, into an armchair and complaining that his human body got winded too quickly.  River had only chuckled and made him tea, which he childishly refused to drink.

            Clara had walked Hamish back up to his room and given him one last kiss, the last one he’d get from her for four years.  She also had had the TARDIS make a copy of a key and given it to him on a leather string.

            ‘Consider it a timey-wimey engagement ring,’ she’d joked when he goofily put it around his neck.

            ‘Are you proposing marriage, Miss Oswald?’

            ‘Oi, Junior, don’t go there.  Not yet.  Give it a few bleeding years.’

            After saying goodbye and feeling dread in the pit of her stomach for condemning him to four long years of waiting, which seemed hardly fair for a boy of 18, she’d promised to go straight to the future to rescue him.  That wasn’t exactly true—she’d first searched for him as a baby to secure the adoption papers and then give them to Clara in the past.  She couldn’t afford to let that wait.

            Part of her knew this entire thing was crazy, that people shouldn’t fall in love this quickly.  Part of her suspected and feared that Hamish was going to stray, as he was only a young boy, after all.

            But at least she wasn’t afraid of her own feelings, not anymore.  Hamish had felt bricks at first sight, and she’d felt them hit her, too—only one at a time, rather than all at once.  She knew she was going to love that silly, nerdy, goofy boy for a very long time.  Perhaps even forever.

            She smiled to herself and typed in new coordinates and a date, letting out a sigh of relief when the TARDIS engines whirred and whistled and took her straight to the Boy Who Waited for her.

* * * *

            “Are you _always_ this cranky?” River complained as the Doctor fumed in his seat, crossing his arms.  “Blimey, if I’d known you were going to be such an ornery old man, I would have married Jack Harkness.”

            The Doctor stuck out his tongue.  “Liar.  And this is _boring_.  All they’re doing is announcing boring old names of boring old people, and Hamish doesn’t even get to do anything remotely interesting and I’d much rather go take apart one of those iPads again.”

            “You are never doing that again,” River said decisively.  “Those cost too much for you to just destroy them.”

            “I didn’t destroy it—I would have made a perfectly functioning electric can opener if all that ruddy glass hadn’t gotten in the way.”

            She rolled her eyes and didn’t bother to respond.  “Oh, look, there goes Mish!  Clap, sweetie!”

            The Doctor and River hooted from their seats as Hamish Watson-Holmes mounted the stage in a black robe with a white, furry stole.  He grinned shyly at the wildly clapping audience and accepted his diploma from a wizened professor handing out scrolls to students, and he firmly shook his hand before crossing the stage with the rest of the graduates.

            Hamish had been near the end of the line, and he joined his fellow classmates as they held hands and hugged and waited until the professor finally announced, “Introducing the University of Oxford’s Graduated Class of 2037!”

With a huge cheer, the graduates threw their caps into the air and congratulated each other as the room burst into further applause.

            “Congratulations, mate!”

            “Thanks, Harry, you too!” Hamish said, clapping his best friend on the shoulder.

            “You know if you want to come to Paris over the summer with me, my offer’s still open.  Drinks, girls…”

            “Nah, I sort of have something I’m doing this summer,” he replied with a smile.  “I’ll be doing a lot of traveling, though—maybe I’ll bump into you.”

            “Congratulations, Hamish!”  
            “You too, Claire.”

            “Hey, Hamish, too bad about not getting the graduation speech!”

            “Oh, sod off, Andrew.”

            Hamish scanned the crowds of graduates and families for the familiar faces of his pseudo-parents/future in-laws.  River was smiling warmly at him from across the room, elbowing the Doctor in the ribs to get him to look at Hamish.  The Doctor waved wildly at Hamish when he spotted him, mouthing, “Congratulations, old boy!”  
            He chuckled and continued searching the room for something, any sign… He’d been hoping ever since his birthday last November that she’d be here, even though he knew the agreement had been to meet after he’d gotten his degree.  Still, he’d spent a lot of time hoping and wishing and waiting, just in case.

            Oh, it hadn’t been easy.  In fact, there had been a lot of months that he’d been angry with himself for his choice, when his mates were out getting spectacularly drunk and bragging about their one-night stands.  They’d joked about Hamish, the perpetual virgin with the long-distance girlfriend.  When he felt like he was missing out, he’d always go back to 221B, just to be around the Doctor and River and to have their memories rub off on him.

            Of course, to his surprise, there had been small encouragements.  Every so often, there would be post cards, post-its, or the occasional gift, all from her in the future (and presumably future versions of himself, which accounted for her uncanny knowledge of what was happening to him).

            A new set of beakers when he’d melted his in a lab accident that nearly burned off his right ear, accompanied with the message: _Heard you had a bit of a mess in chem today—and by ‘heard’, I mean you told me.  Watch that ear for me, will you?_

A bright pink note on his desk after a night out with the boys where they’d all gone home with ladies and he’d rejected the advances of a few girls.  _Thank you, Mish.  Only two years now—you can do this.  I love you._

            She’d even come to him, once, on a very bad night, and he’d hoped it had been her to pick him up early.  But as soon as he’d seen her, he knew it was a much older version, at least nearing thirty.  But it had been a welcome visit.

            Hamish was shaken from his search by more clamoring classmates until he finally made his way to River and the Doctor.  “Well, that was long and pretty dull.  Sorry to bore you guys.”

            River shook her head.  “Not at all.  Shall we go out and celebrate?  What sort of dinner would be worthy of a Molecular and Cellular Biochemistry major want?”

            “A microscopic one,” Hamish joked.  “But really, I’m not all that hungry.  We can just go home, if you like.”

            River noticed that he continued to scan the crowd and squeezed his hand.  “She’ll be around.  Just you wait.”

            “If there’s anything I know about my Lyra, it’s that she’s a punctual girl,” the Doctor said.  “Well, not really.  If there’s anything I know about her, it’s actually that she’s bossy.  And short.  Bossy and short and sometimes punctual!”

            The trio left together, stopping to wish Hamish’s friends congratulations, and he’d almost given up on seeing her that night.  Maybe she’d be at the flat.  Or maybe she’d be there in the morning.

            “Mish, stop worrying, will you?  She’s not abandoning you.”

            “I didn’t think she was!  I was just…I just kind of hoped she would be here for graduation.”  He embarrassedly ran a hand through his neatly combed dark hair, messing it up the way he normally liked it.

            “Don’t be daft, Mish—of course I was here,” a voice said from behind, and even though Hamish had spent all these years imagining how he would behave when he saw her again, he threw his plans out the window.  He squeaked in disbelief, turned around, and let his jaw drop, because standing behind him was the most beautiful girl in the whole of creation, looking every bit as perfect as the first time he’d seen her and the last time he’d left her.

            Bless her, she was still wearing the same clothes as she was four years ago—knee-length black skirt, red sweater, two bobby pins holding her hair back.  She smiled at him.  “Hi, dear.  I told you I’d be back.  Didn’t you believe me?”

            River and the Doctor laughed as Hamish scrambled over his feet to reach her and Clara ran forward to grab him, and Hamish remembered part of his plan—he picked her up by the waist and spun the tiny girl around before putting her down and kissing her for as long as he liked.

            A few of the exiting guests and graduates happened to spot him and whistled, Harry among them.  “Atta boy, Mish—‘bout time we met the girlfriend.  She’s hot!”  
            “Oi!” he said, breaking the kiss for a moment but not breaking eye contact with Clara.  “Do not objectify my girlfriend, Harry Smith!  I’ll tell your mother!”

            Harry cringed.  “Martha won’t care—it’s Dad that will have my arse for it.”

            Clara grinned, feeling like stars or tears or _somethings_ were burning in her eyes, and she leaned up on tiptoe to wrap her arms around Hamish and kiss him again.  “You got taller.  And much, much cuter.  Not that I was worried.”

            “You haven’t aged a day.”

            “No, only about four hours.  But those were a long four hours—not to downplay your four years, though!” She kissed him on the forehead, the cheeks, the nose, and nestled her head into his shoulder.  “I’m so sorry, Mish.  You and I—we’re still okay, yeah?  Because if you’ve met someone else, or if you don’t want this anymore, I understand.”

            He rolled his eyes and kissed her again.  “Does that answer your question?”

            “I suppose.  Oh, hi, Mum!  Hi, Dad!  Long time, eh?” she said, waving to her parents who were patiently waiting a few meters away.

            “Come over here and hug your old dad, you numpty!” the Doctor demanded.  “That is, if you could unattach your lips from the graduate’s for a moment.”

            Clara giggled and kept a tight hold on Hamish’s hand as she ran forward and hugged both of her parents.  “It’s brilliant to see you again, it really is, but I think I owe Hamish four years of adventures—can we catch up in an hour?”

            River rolled her eyes.  “One hour.  And bring him back for dinner!”

            Clara kissed her on the cheek in gratitude and tugged Hamish, laughing all the way, to the hidden blue box behind a tree across the street.  “I know exactly where I’m taking you first!” she said mysteriously, pinning him to the TARDIS’ doors when they got there.  “That is, if you behave.”

            Hamish grinned and saluted her.  “Aye, aye, Captain Oswald.  Permission to snog the Captain before adventuring?”

            “Granted.  You’re long overdue.  But then we’re off, and you’re going to need your dancing shoes, Mish,” she said as she pulled him by the robe into the TARDIS doors.  Relishing the happy sigh he let out when he first walked back into the time machine for the first time in years, she pecked him on the cheek and piloted the TARDIS away.

            “Er, the dancing shoes are fine, I suppose,” Hamish said, “but it says here we’re going somewhere in London, 23 years ago.  What for?”

            She shook her head.  “First, lots of kissing, then we change into snappier clothes, then we have our first adventure.  I thought by now you’d definitely be missing your parents.”

            “Where’d you take us, you impossible girl?”

            “Their wedding reception.  We’re going to dance the night away.”  She crossed her arms and looked up at him.  “Now, are you going to snog me or not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, readers... You can yell at me now.
> 
> I know, I know--there was some seriously shoddy character development, some crazy body-swaps, a few themes that really just turned into muddly mush, and a serious lack of arc between Hamish's grief and moving on from the death of his parents. And it might be a bit unbelievable that he waited for four years for a girl he'd only just met, but I like to think of him as Rory in a way. Sometimes love hits you fast and refuses to let go. And it might seem a bit one-sided, but I tried to make it clear that Clara loved him back; she's just a lot more stubborn about admitting it.
> 
> Anyway, I realize there is a lot I should change, but I wanted to be finished with this work so I could let this story go for a bit until I knew what I wanted to change. Apologies to dissatisfied readers.
> 
> Thanks for your readership through the muddle! I promise to write with more clarity next time!  
> Cheers!


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